Someone close to you was not the person you thought you knew.

[ranuccio]

Myself.
I thought I didn't need anyone. I thought I knew what I was doing. Thought Lena wasn't jealous. Thought Michele's love would last forever. Thought Jason was true. I was wrong. Each single time, I was wrong. I needed them. I was jelaous. My love wasn't enough. Murder wasn't enough. I couldn't recognise greedyness and selfishness even when it was clear in front of me.

I thought I knew what I wanted. What I needed. After a life spent mostly looking after myself, cheating and stealing and whoring and gambling and drinking...what more could I want? What did I need more?

I thought I had my freedom strongly held in my fist. Clients were clients. Owners were only a means to money, and money was all  I cared about.
I thought I knew, by then, after all those years, to stay away from burning eyes, from words that cut, brushes that burns. I thought I had learnt, something.

Fucking weird, that I now have to learn meself all again. Learn to understand what I want, what I hunger for.
I thought I knew meself. I saw my reflection in a shop window, over baskets of bread and pies.
The skin was smooth.
My neck was cold.
It looked so wrong.