ECHO

Years ago a friend of mine had a dream about a strange invention; a staircase you could descend deep underground, in which you heard recordings of all the things anyone had ever said about you, both good and bad. The catch was, you had to pass through all the worst things people had said before you could get to the highest compliments at the very bottom. There is no way I would ever make it more than two and a half steps down such a staircase, but I understand its terrible logic: if we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.

e per che cosa mi dovrei pentire
di giocare con la vita e di prenderla per la coda,
tanto un giorno dovrà finire
e poi, all’eterno ci ho già pensato
è eterno anche un minuto, ogni bacio ricevuto
dalla gente che ho amato.