STRAWBERRIES AND SMOKE

North Of Italy, 10:15 PM

For most of the morning I was shaken by the recent news of Domenico’s death 💀, the little boy from Naples who had been given a damaged heart due to improper preservation.

It turned out that the staff responsible for transporting the organ were not adequately trained: something absolutely unacceptable, a real scandal! 😡

Now the poor child is gone forever, and no one will give him back to his parents — not even if the family manages to obtain justice.

As the day went on, I began to feel a little better, although for me spring always carries an undercurrent of chronic sadness.

It has always been this way and there is not much I can do about it, except photograph colorful flowers as soon as possible.

That helps every time.

Today’s Liturgy spoke about sin and temptation.

At one point the priest declared with ardor and conviction that kneeling before God — and God alone — is a revolutionary act of liberation from the logic of the world.

Even though I understood the deeper meaning of his words and genuinely appreciated them, a not-so-small part of me felt as though her dignity had been trampled.

And in the car, sitting in the passenger seat on the way home with my father, while listening to Hanson — that old trio of long-haired boys I adored back in middle school 😍 — suddenly he took over my entire mind and psyche: Asmodeus 😈.

We were in some ancient castle, standing by a window, the only source of light.

I could look outside, but I did not — I only had eyes for him.

It was as though he was the only landscape worthy of my attention, and I gave it to him entirely, because his charismatic energy pulled at me like a magnet.

He smelled of woods, of unrestrained luxury and desire.

I inhaled deeply to savor as much of it as possible and imagined how perfect an altar to him would look beside my bed — with exquisite offerings, and all that power flowing through my veins the more appreciated they are.

This time his black hair is tied in a long braid, giving him an even more ancient and wild aura.

His cigarette was lit 🚬, his face veiled in smoke, yet I could still see his intense flame-red eyes.

He said: “Never kneel before anyone. Bow only to yourself. Do not sell your vital energy to anyone. It is too precious.”

He paused a bit to study my reaction.

The room filled with the strong scent of strawberries 🍓, my favorite fruit.

Then he continued: “You have seen what I can do, and you know I could do the same for you. You would reach his level and never again feel inferior or crushed by his mere existence — nor by that of brilliant people like him. I do not rejoice in a contrite heart, but in a proud one.”

Suddenly I wish Occlumency were real.

He kept speaking, his tone more and more seductive, but I did not respond.

I started the Midday Prayer on my phone and returned to the car beside my father, who in the meantime has turned on the radio to listen to a football match commentary.

The last part of the day passed quietly — a Milan game I probably should not have watched because they lost, and the third season of Dawson’s Creek, where Dawson is tempted by Eve 🍎.

A challenging kind of Sunday, but then again, we are in Lent — a time of preparation, renunciation, and trials.

P.S. I let my Tamagotchi, Pochitchi 🐶, die because he had become too demanding to manage.

In the end he was 17 virtual years old — which equals 16 human days — he had a good life.

Still far less tragic than the death of a small child due to a senseless medical mistake.