Il vento che ti caccia le lentine. Gentile lui.
“She had an overwhelming desire to tell him, like the most banal of women.
Don’t let me go, hold me tight, make me your plaything, your slave, be strong!
But they were words she could not say.
The only thing she said when he released her from his embrace was, “You don’t know how happy I am to be with you.”
That was the most her reserved nature allowed her to express.”
Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being