My Cousin Paolo

Ly cousin Paolo is someone I don't see much during the year, because he lives in Milan and I live in Rome. I have my own room where I spend most of my time. I have a computer I use to watch photos and films that people upload to their channels. I like to tag photos of myself in them. When I'm away from the computer, I suffer, because I look at it so often. I take the train whenever I can sit by the window so I can watch the landscape change. To go north, I need a suitcase. I prefer to see new places and take photos, but once I do, the space fills up fast, and I wish I had a printer to put them in an album. The thought of seeing my cousin frightens me. When I stayed as a guest at his place, I realized I wouldn't have peace or time to do anything—in the morning I'm on alert the moment he looks for me. Paolo and I dug holes together to plant chicas, a plant with long leaves. Our friendship had become a memory of the past over time. I saw in him a mature young man with ideas of his own. For me, seriousness and company matter, and being able to joke together and share that understanding. When I have to change places, I'm happy—I see different people, places, and views from my city, which I know by heart because it's like a fixed picture, and you can't go wrong getting home; it's always there. I don't have much time to go out, but I go with my friends from Fede e Luce to nice places. The wait to see each other again is long. Distance from Paolo doesn't make me sad. I know he exists and he's good at his work. In my life, I wish something new would happen. I don't want to stay alone forever. We all need someone special.