Thousands of this Day

Yuri Rossi

«Happy Birthday!»

I nodded.

«Best wishes!»

I nodded.

Facebook reminder: “It's your birthday! Thank you for joying us! Have a nice day, you deserve people who love you”.

I nodded. Where are those people? Do they really exist? People who really love, I mean.

«Make a wish!»

I thought with all the fibers of my body. Maybe there's one thing I'd like to have, or to be. Then I blew away the little flame on the candles. Nothing happened. I nodded.

Parents, friends, neighbors asked how I feel in this important day. I said simple things, like “I'm ok, the future is ok, my dreams are ok”.

Actually, my entire world is falling down and I feel lonelier than ever. I left work because all burocracy and no human contacts make Yuri sadder and emptier. I hate contacts, but I need them. This is the truth.

I know. It's about me – I guess – like that old story you tell in the high school when you're going to break-up with a girl. A little drama is needed, always.

«I thought you would have died first! 26 years old, you're next to the thirties!»

My dear, I'm next to bite your fucking nose. But you're right, I guess.

I nodded.

«In the next year you can die like an artist! A true artist!»

Why it is all about diying and being an artist?

I nodded.

I shook hand, kissed many cheecks, explained the difference between being a jobless graduated and a futurless graduated. My laughts ware fake, but my intent was genuine.

The celebration of this important day went on. Everybody were talking and yelling about many things, but I didn't understand what they were saying. I needed some air. Fresh, polluted, stinky air.

My best friend came by, smiling. He was happy for me. Truly happy.

«Thousands of this day. You deserve.»

I nodded.

Yuri Rossi is 26 years bored and lives somewhere in the north of Italy. Author of two, he doesn't know what to do when he grows up. Now he's writing something sad and futureless, like his dreams.