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You can fall ill with just a memory.

Paolo Giordano

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Paolo Giordano
Age: 42
Born: 1982
Born: December 19
Novelist
Physicist
Screenwriter
Writer
Turin
Italy
Ill
Memory
Memories
Fall

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His scars were hidden and safe in her hand.
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She was tired, with that tiredness that only emptiness brings.
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The love of those we don't love in return settles on the surface and from there quickly evaporates.
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You'll get used to it. In the end you won't even notice it anymore, he said. How is that possible? It will always be there, right before my eyes. Exactly, said Mattia. Which is precisely why you won't see it anymore.
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They lived the slow and invisible interpenetration of their universes, like two stars gravitating around a common axis, in ever tighter orbits, whose clear destiny is to coalesce at some point in space and time.
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The scene was set. All that was required was an action, a cold start, instant and brutal as beginnings always are.
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She tried to open the bottle, but the top slipped through her fingers without moving. He took the bottle from her hand and opened it with his thumb and index finger. There was nothing special in the gesture and yet she found it strangely fascinating like a small heroic feat performed specially for her.
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All opening moves were the same, like in chess. You don't have to come up with anything new, there's no point, because you're both after the same thing anyway. The game soon finds its own way and it's only at that point that you need a strategy.
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It was strange to find them here, still alive, with their shared bits of past that suddenly counted for nothing.
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but his eyes were too dark for her to make out any spark in them
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Choices are made in brief seconds and paid for in the time that remains
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Even though he was afraid to admit it, when he was with her it seemed it was worth doing all those normal things that normal people do.
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Separating them were two layers of brick, a few inches of plaster, and nine years of silence.
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In fact, they didn't talk much at all, but they spent time together, each in his own abyss, held safe and tight by the other's silence.
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Mattia thought that he and Alice were like that, twin primes, alone and lost, close but not close enough to really touch each other.
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She found herself thinking of how it would feel to be safely trapped in his arms, with no more possibility to choose.
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Mattia's voice no longer stirred anything in his stomach, but he was aware of the idea of him and always would be, as the only true benchmark for everything that had come afterward.
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People took what they wanted, they clutched at coincidences, the few there were, and made a life from them. . . . Choices are made in brief seconds and paid for in the time that remains.
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