Buon trasloco

It's as if someone left the lamp on not because of the darkness, but just to trick the silence a little. The move is long behind me, work is going well, friends have been updated, but inside, the warm ghost of those conversations still lives, where every "How are you?" sounded a little longer than it should have. Everything seems to be according to the rules of adult life: new cities, plans, bills, but somewhere between the weekdays, the familiar thought still flickers that maybe he'll turn the key in the lock and say he just stopped by. The music seemed to have overheard this strange state between "it's time to forget" and "let it linger a little longer." Calm, but with a nervous edge, gentle, but not without irony towards her own sentimentality. The one that's not placed for memories, but to give them a quiet place to sit beside and finally stop interfering with life.