Incoscienti Giovani

Love, burned by cigarettes and rain, smells of gasoline and longing for what can never be returned. Everything feels a bit cinematic, like a soundtrack to an old Italian film where the characters don't grow up, but simply learn to love the wrong way, but completely. The wind is beating against the windows, the engine is purring, and the memory of her is like a gas station on the highway: it flashed by and stayed inside forever. In these words, youth isn't about age, but about recklessness, when loving means burning up, and missing someone makes breathing uneven. Laughter, fatigue, road dust, it's all mixed together, and it's all real. Even the pain here is beautiful, like a song that ends mid-sentence, leaving behind a quiet echo of phrases: *incoscienti giovani* forever young, even when there's no strength left to be so.