There’s an italian film whose name is The sweet life, directed by Fellini, that describes what a couple of freaks like me feel.
There’s a famous scene in which an american actress takes a bath in the night into a fountain, and Marcello, the protagonist, just stand there, looking at her, as he always does: looking at people roaringly living, without knowing wheter he should get into, or stay out.
He has a job he doesn’t like, a woman he doesn’t love, an expensive car he uses to hang around in Rome with his lover, whom he doesn’t care about: he isn’t presumptuous, at all. He doesn’t know, he doesn’t understand, what it’s missing from him; one thing he knows: something does miss.
Something doesn’t match but what the fuck, who am i to pretend of having everything? I still have to finish the second part of the film, but i don’t need it, i’m living it