Ties

by Domenico Starnone

Growing up, we were molded by the strides of our parents, our older siblings, the people we’re tied to. Now our legs move according to acquired habits. And the tension, the emotion, the happiness of each step must have perished along with the uniqueness of our stride. We proceed believing that the movement of our legs is our own, but it isn’t so; there’s a small crowd that’s shaped us, moving up those steps with us, and the steadiness of our legs simply stems from conformity.

I feel tied to you again, what about you?

Everyone laughs about sex, even though we all know that it can sow discord, make us unhappy, generate violence, drive us to desperation and death.

Love is just a container we shove everything into—it didn’t last long.

As soon as you make an effort to say something clearly, you realize that it’s only clear because you’ve simplified it.

I hear everything he’s thinking. I hear the periods and the commas, and I know that he hates me.

How many clichés is he capable of unsheathing to defend himself? Pressing close to a loved one at night calms you down, love is better than faith in God, it’s like a prayer in the face of the constant risk of death; having kids lowers anxiety, oh how sweet the joys of one’s brood, how thrilling to see them grow: You realize you’re a ring in an endless chain, those before you and those to come, it’s the only way to feel immortal; et cetera et cetera et cetera.

His mistake was that once you’ve taken action to hurt people profoundly, to kill or, in any case, permanently devastate other human beings, you can’t go back. You have to accept the responsibility for the crime through and through. You can’t commit a half-crime.