Mmm...

My flatmate likes pizzica. I was playing my tambourine in my room. At the origins, this was a kind therapeutic dance. I try to reproduce this function, and to be honest it works. I play when I'm so sad that no words can express what I have inside. It was the same when I used to play piano. I passed through many difficult, hurting moments just spending whole afternoons playing Debussy, my favourite. Now I would like to play again, and I would like the notes to reach her heart. I just had my tambourine now, and I played hoping to recover my heart. I know that tomorrow it will be the same. And again, and again... Fuckin' hell, why life is such a shit sometimes?