Robert

Translation Notice

This article is a work of fiction originally written in Italian. It has been automatically translated to English using an AI tool. The rhythmic and narrative qualities may differ from the original.

Robert watched the rain fall outside his window. A normal winter day, like many, like all the ones he had spent in that room waiting for who knows what.

He always had the impression of waiting for something to knock on his door. A sign, a person, anything that could awaken him from the slumber he had devoted himself to for years.

Languishing. That was all he knew how to do by now. Like sticky gelatin he was attached to life, but so soft he could shatter into a thousand pieces at any moment.

No, he wasn't happy.

He hadn't been happy for a long time. He had figured that out by now. He tried to trace back to the root of his unhappiness, but the further back he went, the more he thought that perhaps, deep down, he had never been happy.

These weren't good thoughts that fermented in his head every day, but just like yeast they grew and came to be the only thing present in his skull. An obsession, a fixation. That's what he lived on, if you could call it living.

The therapist he saw every Monday morning at nine o'clock always recommended doing some self-analysis. Writing in a diary and trying to understand himself. Trying to glimpse, in the intricate mess of all things, something important. A handhold. Something that could support him to get through another day unscathed. Another day without hanging himself from a tie in his living room. The very living room from which every day he watched the rain fall. Incessant. For months.