ONE MORE RIDE ON THE MERRY-GO-ROUND

I like to compare the love scene to a big amusement park. The entrance to the park is free, so everyone goes in from time to time, at least once a year. Some people prefer to walk around and watch from the distance how others go on the different rides: some of them are frightened of the rides; some are just not interested in them. There are those who enjoy going on the most dangerous attractions: they get a sudden rush of excitement, and the moment they get off the ride they go on another one. They don't usually go on the same one more than two or three times, they are constantly looking for the newest thrill ride in the park. Some people go on the highest and fastest roller coasters knowing that it is not a great idea and that they will probably end up dizzy or even throwing up, but they still go on the ride just for the sake of living the experience.

The merry-go-rounds are always packed with those who are looking for something nice and simple. Some people look happy, some look really bored, but stay on the ride until it stops going round. These are safe attractions, you get to pick the horse of your choice, or at least to pick a horse from the ones that have not been taken, and nobody gets hurt -if you don't try to leave the merry-go-round while it's still moving-.

You can always get on a train ride and visit the House of Terror, but if you decide to do that you know what you are going to find in there:  you'll probably end up wishing the ride to finish as soon as possible, unless you've gone on the same ride so many times that you just ignore the monsters that come your way.

And then there's the Ferris wheel.... You often go on it with a special someone, and everything is quite romantic at first, until you are left hanging right at the top and you start wondering what you are doing there and asking for the thing to stop. Don't you worry. It will eventually stop. It always does.

A SCRATCH IN MY SKIN

I own a weapon, didn't you know that? It's sharp and dented, and I carry it around. It's actually a piece of broken glass, a piece of something that broke... long ago. Most of the times I forget that it's there, and I usually end up hurting myself. Just some scratches, nothing severe: they bleed a little bit and I drop some tears. Once I've put some alcohol on the injuries I'm ready to go again.

Sometimes I meet other armed people. They walk around with their pieces of broken glass, unaware of the fact that they will eventually damage someone if they aren't careful. It has happened to most of us: you are happily walking down your way when suddenly you crash into somebody and you end up taking painkillers or even at the emergency room with some friend holding your hand. Most of the time the aggressors are not conscious of what has happened; they are often in a rush and leave without leaving a phone number. And they keep on bumping into other people, leaving traces of blood behind them.

Sometimes you meet someone whose weapon is right there pointing at you. You know how it is going to end, but still decide to get closer to him, thinking that at some point he will trust you and drop his piece of glass, but just when you are emotionally naked in front of him, he decides to stab you and run away.

How can you prevent this happening again and again? Well you can't. Unless you decide not to leave your house there is a chance you'll get injured every now and then.

My piece of glass is well hidden, not only because I don't want to hurt anyone, but also because I don't want to lose it. It will come in handy when I decide to tear the strings that keep me from moving on.

MARRIED WITH CHILDREN

Once again my best friend has met a married guy. It's not that she's after them, they just happen to remember they're married the day after they've had sex. The last one mentioned it after a week of lust and sexting...his wife was still at hospital after having had their second baby! And when my friend asked him if they were having marital problems, he answered yes, but that his wife knew nothing about it! I'm telling you there's a lot of crappy men out there...

Another of these jewels waited two months to mention he had a wife... My friend kept wondering why he would always take her out to lovely romantic restaurants, but really far from the madding crowd ones, like in the middle of anywhere. She was quite smitten with him, she was, until the day he said he was married and not thinking of leaving his wife, as his mum and her got along very well!

And then there was her tennis teacher: he told her he was getting a divorce, and she believed him, until she was invited to participate in a present for his new baby. And there have been more. Frankly, I don't know how she can keep on trying.

Being with unavailable men only makes you feel bad about yourself because in the end you are just a toy for them, an entertainment, but they won't be there when you've had a bad day and you simply want to cuddle. Trust me, we should go out with lying detectors instead of lipstick in our bags. End of story.

ANIMAL INSTINCT

It happened years ago. The one who had been my boyfriend on an on and off basis for a few years came home to tell me he had been cheating on me, that he was really sorry about it, and that he wanted me to forgive him so that we could start over again. I remember I couldn't stop crying. I told him it was over, but he wouldn't listen. He demanded to kiss me and I said no. He kept on trying to reach my lips while I was sobbing like a child. Finally I asked him to leave and just when we were at the door I saw his eyes and I knew what was going to happen.

He pushed me to the door in a violent way, and stopped me from moving by holding my neck. I was still weeping, and I begged him to leave me alone. He wouldn't. He managed to pull his and my trousers down and did what a dog would do. I said no, no, no... but I was too shocked to scream. I let him do, knowing I would never see him again.

As soon as he had finished he left, and I let myself fall onto the floor and remained there for hours, until it was dark enough to have a shower without having to look at myself in the mirror.

The next morning I told my best friend because I needed to tell someone, I needed to feel less dirty, to be hugged by somebody who truly loved me and who would never do me any harm.

I never spoke about it again.

LADY IN RED

I am finally going to rest tonight, I have decided it is the right moment to stop the clocks and disconnect my phones.

My hot bubble bath is awaiting, I light some scented candles and I get in the water. I take some big breaths while listening to Sixpence None the Richer's Anything. I am not in the mood for singing tonight, I just want to relax and let go. Some people don't understand how exhausting my life is: life is, after all, a game, and if you are not a good player you keep on taking risks and losing. And I'm not a loser, never have been, it's just that I am not lucky. Or maybe I'm not clever enough to play the cards I've been given. I've been trying hard to get better at this. I have watched other players win and leave the table, even though some of them had cheated. Every time a new game starts I'm there, waiting for my hand to be better, but the best cards I get are an ace-queen high or a king high, that is, garbage.

So I'm giving up, I'm exhausted. I feel sleepy now, my pain killers are starting to kick in. I make sure all of my dress is under the water. I close my eyes. This is it. I finally get to rest.

MY NAME IS LUKA

I couldn't face watching myself on the mirror; instead I stared at the marks on my body. The bruises spoke to me, they made me feel ashamed of myself, they were speaking out loud now, ... I didn't think this would ever happen to me, I never thought he would do this to me.

He had come to my door late last night, visibly drunk and angry. I opened the door and suddenly I was thrown onto the wall, his hand on my neck and I saw the rage in his eyes. I didn't say nor do anything. I didn't shout, I didn't kick him, I just let him punch me until I was lucky enough my neighbours came in and pulled him away. He left, I didn't call the police.

My marks were now shouting at me. It's difficult for me to describe the pain I felt, my body was aching but my soul was the one thing severely damaged. I knew I hadn't done anything to deserve that, but I should have known better, this should have never happened, this could not happen again. I packed a small suitcase and flew back to my town the next morning. I just ran away.

He wrote me a letter every single day. He sent me flowers. He asked me to come back, he apologized, he said he loved me.

Don't ask me why, I went back to him. He never hit me again, but he was cruel to me in many aspects I am not going to describe now. Eventually I found out he had been cheating on me for months, and it was then when I put an end to the relationship.

His marks are no longer on my skin, but I still have some left inside, whispering to me.

IT'S A SHAME ABOUT RAY

I had a thorough look at the drink I had in front of me. It was pale yellow with a small head. It smelled of fruit and flowers. I took a sip: it had a simple, balanced taste, and full carbonation with no real finish.

He had a look at the dress he was dating that evening. It was a gorgeous strapless summer dress. There was some stone embroidery attached to it. The fabric seemed soft to touch.

I concentrated on the noise that was coming from my beer. It was quite annoying, crisp and bright, and had a different timbre in the low and high range.

He had a look at the bust he was dating that evening. It had lovely blue eyes on a pale face and a sweet smile. Its hair was up in a ponytail and its shoulders were covered in freckles.

"Call me another time", Mr. Budweiser said.
The bust never did, I guess it wasn't that thirsty.

RIDER ON THE STORM

It all started as summer storms do, just a few drops, the kind that don't get you seriously wet, the ones you actually enjoy after a period of no rain at all. I didn't get my umbrella because I thought I wouldn't need it, and although practically everybody said to me it was a bad idea to walk under the rain, I decided to do it.

At first I took pleasure in getting myself wet, but before I knew it, I was soaking. I could have stopped under a few trees I found on my way, but you know what they say about trees and storms,... I actually didn't care that much about the rain because I thought you were in my same situation.

But you weren't, were you? I waited for you under the grey clouds and, as it got dark, I realised you were one of those guys who never risk catching a cold, silly me.