Ludovica De Gaudenzi

This is not a love story.It’s a story that takes places at three o’clock in the afternoon in the city’s imperfect silence, where cars speed by and voices call out from the street; all these disparate sounds coming through the open windows as we crash against each other like waves smacking against the shore.

I want to see you. It’s egoistical, it’s primal, it’s ugly, but that’s the way it is. Come on, let’s fuck, let’s not think about it. We’ll tear off skin, hair, clothes; we’ll rip each other apart like a packet of crisps and then let each other go. Lightly, without commitment, without grand declarations and serenades; we’ll hurt each other and forget each other.

Summer;
The time of year where days are longer and the sun is warmer, and that there’s this sense of freedom in the air that tastes like new beginnings and endless possibilities.

Suddenly, the flames spark up, as they do upon pressing the button of a lighter. It burns. It hurts a little, but it also feels good a little. I dissolve—skin…