It's in there. I can't hear it clearly, but I can sense its presence. It moves, talks and argues like everyone else in this world, wherever they may be. Sometimes it laughs, sometimes it gets angry, sometimes it's happy, tormented or depressed.

It doesn't exactly live there, but it spends most of its day there. Perhaps even all of it, judging by the number of times I've seen her getting agitated during the night. She exists, and whatever others may say or think, she doesn't see me. She simply ignores me.

When I try to talk about it, people laugh at me. Crazy, visionary, out of my mind, nuts, neurotic, hypochondriac and perhaps even psychopathic... The notes, the tone, the degree of frustration change, but the adjectives that rain down on me are always the same.

Yet it would be enough to walk a few kilometres in my shoes to understand that not everything that seems crazy is really so immaterial. The problem is another: making very tight shoes fit those with feet that are too wide, or vice versa.

In the end, it's better this way, because if they felt what I feel, I would be ruined. I know not only the surface of her, but also intimate, scandalous, unmentionable details. The ones that everyone hides, but that she doesn't bother to hide from me.

No detail escapes me. Every thought, hesitation, secret. It is precisely when she thinks she is alone that she reveals even more about herself. Perhaps she would like to get rid of me, but she cannot. Because I am not outside, I am inside.

Because she, in reality, is you. I am the voice that flows through you as you read these lines, and getting rid of me is impossible.

I'm part of ITALYGAME Team

together with:
@girolamomarotta, @sardrt, @mikitaly, @mad-runner, @famigliacurione

👉 VOTA PER NOI COME WITNESS👈