#anima fragile

[ragazzoarcano]

“È un difetto tipicamente umano:

apparire duri per nascondere

un'anima fragile.”

— Paul Jack

[sinestetica-mente]

Ero la regina del mio regno, vigeva il caos e la disperazione. Io, con eleganza e compassione, mi sono presa per mano, facendomi sedere su quel trono benedetto dalle maldicenze della gente, mi sono armata di sorriso e corona e ho cambiato, adattato, l’ambiente alla mia sensibile anima.

Tea

[tizianacerralovetrainer]

Ormai mi è chiaro che chi non pratica l'umiltà non ha avuto il coraggio di incontrare la sua ombra più profonda.

Perché chi si è visto spezzarsi, non respirare, sbagliare ancora e ancora, esercitare un controllo da impazzire, arrendersi, riprendersi per i capelli, gridare fuori i demoni: non può non aver imparato - profondamente - da dove viene. Da lì, dalla terra, dall'humus, da dove nasce la parola umiltà: fertile e gentile. Lì dove si tocca il fondo e si scava, ancora. Lì dove si mettono le radici per le altezze, altimenti si è solo bandiere al vento della superficialità.

Perché dopo quello puoi solo inchinarti di fronte alla storia di ognuno, rispettare, onorarne le sfide e starvi accanto con onesta presenza. Baciarne le difficoltà e accarezzarne le paure.

E non è una gara a chi ha sofferto di più, non si pronunciano frasi mortificanti come "c'è chi sta peggio". Qualsiasi sfida abbiamo incontrato, abbiamo toccato lo stesso suolo e siamo diventati sorelle e fratelli della stessa tribù.

Ognuno necessario con la sua ombra, ognuno necessario con la luce che da lì proviene.

Chi sminuisce non conosce. Chi si crede migliore sta solo fingendo una sicurezza mai conquistata, e priva di gentilezza.

Forza tribù.

[Gloria Momoli]

[anima--fragile]

A casa mia la luna non ha mai bussato.

È sempre entrata prepotentemente dalle persiane. Come le emozioni forti.

Ché mica bussano mai, quelle.

[ilmondodielly]

Era troppo amore. Troppo grande, troppo complicato, troppo confuso, e azzardato e fecondo e doloroso. Era tutto quello che potevo dare, più di quanto mi convenisse. Per questo s’infranse. Non si esaurì, non finì, non morì, semplicemente s’infranse, crollò come una torre troppo alta, come una scommessa troppo alta, come un’aspettativa troppo ambiziosa.

Era stato troppo amore, tutto quello che potevo dare, più di quanto fosse logico.

Era stato troppo amore. Poi, il nulla.

Almudena Grandes

[pier-carlo-universe]

Le anime nude di Rita Frasca Odorizzi: un viaggio poetico tra tempo, amore e fragilità. Recensione di Alessandria today

Una poesia intensa che esplora la lotta con il tempo e il legame indissolubile tra due anime.

Una poesia intensa che esplora la lotta con il tempo e il legame indissolubile tra due anime. Analisi della poesia.La poesia Le anime nude di Rita Frasca Odorizzi è un’opera delicata e intensa, che racconta con profondità il conflitto con il tempo e l’incedere della vita. Attraverso un linguaggio evocativo e immagini suggestive, l’autrice esplora i temi della fragilità umana, del dolore, della…

[mccek]

Tutto è cambiato da quel 2010,

anni passati buttata in un letto, 

salvata per miracolo, le ore sotto i ferri sono state dieci, 

per me sono state eterne, mi sentivo inerme, 

“la paziente ha perso troppo sangue, la situazione é complicata, 

non ho mai creduto a Dio, sempre pregato gli angeli che mandano segnali dal cielo, 

questa vita ti ha maneggiata bruscamente, mai stata delicata,  

ti ha tolto l’uso dei tuoi arti, 

non sapendo che il tuo punto di forza é insito nel tuo carattere, 

quanta forza di volontà, non ti fai mai abbattere, 

ma dimmi un giorno come farò a dimenticarti? 

Conservo con me quel delfino trovato in una giornata triste dentro un cassetto, 

tuo figlio é sempre quello di un tempo, 

un concentrato di ansie e incertezze, 

che scrive i suoi mostri sopra un foglietto,

dicevi “non piangere”, guarda dentro la tasca,

di anni ne avevo 6, a scuola piangevo ogni santo giorno, 

tant’era la paura della solitudine, che chiedevo alle maestre sé fossi rimasto solo, insicuro delle mie stesse insicurezze,

speravo nessuno vedesse, stringevo il delfino, 

chiudevo gli occhi, allontanando quelle paranoie  trasportate dalla burrasca,  

di idee negative succubi di voci “cattive”, 

ti chiedevo “Mamma? 

Perché quando gli altri piangono io stringo loro la mano e sorrido?

Se quando piango loro mi fissano, ridendo a squarciagola come in un grido?”

“Ognuno é fatto a modo suo, 

non tutti hanno un cuore compatibile col tuo”.

“Non ha importanza se nessuno ti ha compreso, 

non ti sei “abbassato”, non hai cercato compassione, per essere accettato”,

Tu come me davi retta a tutti, poi quando c’era bisogno, “ognuno c’ha i sui impegni”, (già!),

strano come poi piangano lacrime di coccodrillo mentre sei disteso su una bara.

Stesso sangue, avvelenato dalla vita, dal pregiudizio inutile di chi fingeva di esserci vicino,

umani come medicine, un giorno ti elevano al settimo cielo, i restanti ti rigettano l’inferno, 

finisci in para, dicono “passerà”, nessuno ci tiene, impara.

Ti sento piangere le notti, 

con due tumori che si fanno spazio nel tuo corpo, silenziosamente, 

mi dici che non molli, anche sei distrutta, “non voglio spegnere quel tuo sorriso”, 

io non ne conosco di altri motti, 

mi guardi, mi stringi, col corpo che trema, la mia anima lo sente, 

io invidio il tuo essere, fragile e tenace, 

tu non vivi, sopravvivi, lotti,

come quando ballavi il tango, 

cambiavi l’atmosfera, 

la tua? La classe di chi soffre senza farlo notare, 

a ogni tuo passo il mio cuore accelera, 

professionisti che dicevano “incantevole, come

una bambina si diverte in mezzo al fango”.

In una vita di spine, senza una rosa,

sei un’artista nel dipingere le mie giornate, 

metti ordine fra miei pensieri come in un quadro a ogni dettaglio i suoi colori, 

siamo io e te e papà, stretti dentro un incubo, sappiamo che ogni giornata potrebbe essere preziosa, 

ho sempre dato tutto per scontato, bastava dirti grazie, rispettare le tue urla, i tuoi dolori.

Quante volte mi hai detto ti vorrei aiutare? 

Ma testardo davo retta solo a me stesso,

capendo che una donna é l’unica soluzione, 

se ti sa guardare dentro, é più erotico del sesso,

ti scrivo le mie lacrime del cuore, 

quelle che nessuno vede, 

mentre dentro sé stessi ogni equilibro cede.

Ti ho detto troppe volte, “se ti spegnessi metterei fine ai miei giorni”, 

tu solo una cosa mi hai risposto “fammi rivivere in quei giorni”.

[leggerezza-dell-essere]

E allora mi chiedo chi sono. E nudo senza specchi, cerco nell'anima, fragile anima, una radice. E trovo dei rami innesti del tempo, di semi caduti portati dal vento, e altri lasciati da mille viandanti, che riparo, sventura o gioia nel tronco han trovato. E mi chiedo che sono. E trovo frutti acerbi e maturi alcuni succosi, altri secchi e insapori. E sento profumi di aghi di bosco, di sale e di sole, e terra e aroma di vino, di pioggia il sentore. E nudo mi chiedo chi sono. E cerco le forme ancestrali di cellule senza colori, forgiate da vita ed umori, caleidoscopi di brandelli di cuore. E ancora non capisco chi sono. Si muove il respiro, che tacito ascolta. Rimette i vestiti l'anima mia, riprende la via.

Almina Madau

_____Luka Khabelashvili

[coffe-book-club]

‧˚₊⋅ ୨ anima ୧ ⋅₊˚‧

info: husband tom kaulitz x wife fem! reader

disclaimers: historical setting ‘60 in the south of italy; sicily, age gap 30 - 34 agnst and smut, unromanticized mafia, mention of sex, blood, drugs and guns, sexism.

remember in this one-shot i'm absolutely not saying that tom kaulitz is a bad person, this is a figment of my imagination.

‘a dead look. that's what they say, right? lifeless, glassy, ​​empty. the dead gaze was now a constant companion, always following her, never further than a blink of an eye. it hid in the back of her brain and accompanied her in dreams. His dead look, the exact moment he went from alive to no longer alive. y/n saw it in the quickest glances and darkest shadows, sometimes even in the mirror, on her own face...’

as soon as i enter our bedroom, i notice my husband sitting at his desk. near our double bed, with a cigarette between his lips and only in boxers. his head is slightly bowed and his long wavy hair covering his face.

we have never sailed in gold, on the contrary. we live in a small remote village in the south of Italy, in the early sixties. crime is very high and having a husband who is part of it is equally scary. our house is too small for seven people, too old and ruined. but that's all we can afford.

i approach his chair, looking at my husband with a tired look. caressing my swollen belly, covered by an old blue dress.

we already have five children and now i'm in the fifth month, waiting for the sixth child. and despite everything, he always wants more children. because he doesn't care, because at the end of the day i'm the one who will have to take care of them. i have always been a very sweet and fragile woman, unlike my husband i cannot scold or hit our children...

“tom please... go talk to our children, they haven't listened to me. dinner is ready and eleonora didn't want to prepare the table, i've told her so many times, but she doesn't listen to me” his face, as well as his muscular body. he's covered with many old scars. caused by guns, batons and sharp weapons. his masculine smell is enticing. he has a dangerous aura. he glances at me briefly, but then looks back down at the gun in his hand and continues cleaning it.

“have no time for children. they don't listen to you, because they know you're too weak to do anything. they fear me, but they don't respect you. if you don't want to punish them, i will and i won't be gentle. make sure they're in line”

i observe how my husband carefully cleans his gun, a beretta 87. the old white cloth with some black and other slightly greyish stains, is in his large right hand, while the gun is in his left hand. even though tom isn't touching me right now, i feel the slight roughness of his hands and his firm grip on those two objects.

my heartbeat accelerates slowly, knowing full well that he will beat the children and especially eleonora. for not listening to me. a feeling of regret, slowly spreads in my heart. regretting that i had not remained silent and said nothing to my husband. “please tom, don't hit them”

“then do your job. i've told you a hundred times. they need to behave properly. i give them enough food, even though we don't make a lot of money. i keep this family together, while you do nothing all day, and now you aren't even capable of raising them properly. i've had enough”

his words are sharp blades to my poor heart, the feeling of not doing enough for my family returns and i once again feel like a completely useless mother and wife. tom and i don't even notice that little camilla, only four years old. she's watching us at the doorway, in the small space of the door lock, listening to our words. “i'm sorry... but i can't be strict with them”

“then leave it to me” camilla watches through the crack in the door, her face a picture of sadness and fear. she hugs her favorite teddy bear for comfort and tries to hold back her tears.

“it's really hard for me to handle five kids, tom. our sixth child will also be born in a few months and you still want to get me pregnant” my eyes show all my worry and fear. we don't live in gold and having little money it's really difficult to feed seven mouths. “that's your job. you are a woman, so you shouldn't be so weak. all you have to do is lie down a few times a month and keep the house clean. if my mother could manage with nine children, you also can” he shakes his head, his voice getting more and more annoyed. “and if i want another child, we will have another child” his tone of voice is cold, there's not the slightest hint of kindness or understanding in his words.

tom doesn't understand at this moment that i'm just scared of not being able to give a future. i look away from his face, breaking our eye-contact. and then lower my gaze further and observe my maternal womb. i gently caress my belly, as if i wanted to comfort our little son, not yet born. “i'm just scared, tom”

“how can you be scared about something completely normal. having children is the most natural thing in the world. and if i want another child, you will give birth to it, as many times as i want” he lights another cigarette and takes a deep drag. “is that understood? if i ask for another child, you have to fulfill my demand”

“tom, my only fear is for their future. i'm afraid that they won't have a comfortable future” i look up again, looking into my husband's eyes. his beautiful hazel eyes, which i had fallen in love with when we were only sixteen. my tone of voice is sweet, sweet like a freshly baked apple pie, with brown sugar and cinnamon on top. “the future of your children isn't my problem. i don't care what happens when they're old enough to take care of themselves. they have a roof over their heads and warm food on the table. what more do they need?” he looks back at me and shakes his head in disbelief. “do you know how many children in this country sleep on the street? how many don't have anything to eat? and you're whining, because you don't know if your children will be comfortable when they grow up. ridiculous...”

the strong smell of burnt tobacco, persists in our bedroom. the tanned skin of his powerful and muscular body shines softly in the light of the scorching mid-july sun. a soft sigh escapes my lips, as i look at my husband's handsome face and his words echo in my mind, like a broken cassette. “and this doesn't scare you? aren't you afraid that something similar could happen to our children too? then it is also useless for you to want many children, if you don't even care about their future”

his eyes sparkle for a moment and with the cigarette in his mouth, he gets up and takes a step towards me. “you don't get it, do you?” his rough hands grab mine upper arms and pull me close. his face is just a few inches away from mine and his voice is a whisper, laced with passion. “what i want is very important to me. we will have more children. not because of any concerns about the future, but because i want more children. and i will get what i want and i'm not afraid at all. you keep forgetting that i'll protect my family. i have no time for childish fears, i'm not scared of anything. my children grow up with my teaching, they already know how to behave. so there's nothing to worry about”

he takes another drag on the cigarette and keeps staring at me, as if wondering what's wrong with me. the silence between us remains for a few seconds, then he breaks it with a question. “are you really afraid that your children will become like me?”

his eyes sparkle for a moment and with the cigarette in his mouth he places his gun now polished and cleaned of oil and small blood stains that had remained encrusted on the barrel of the silver gun, he gets up and takes a step towards me. his rough hands grab mine upper arms and pull me close. he bends slightly to be at my height and be able to look me in the eyes.

“our children are yours too, this means that part of your dna is in their bodies. they will most likely follow in your footsteps and that scares me, they will do very bad things and they will have to constantly hide from the authorities”

i winces in slight pain when he grabs my arms. he's so strong, so aggressive. the mere touch of his hands makes her tremble like a leaf in a storm. and he's so tall that my head barely reaches his shoulders. a shiver runs down my spine, the feeling of being so exposed and defenseless before him. “why are you so worried that the children will end up like me? you should be proud. and besides, as i said, i'll protect them from the authorities. i will do anything to protect my family”

i observe his face with fear, while his grip on my arms becomes more and more iron and his nails dig slightly into my pale skin covered with a light layer of sweat, forming small reddish crescents. “about what exactly? drug dealing or arms trafficking or human organ trafficking or to kill innocent people? would you want this for our children?” little camilla continues to observe in silence, from the small lock of the old wooden door. holding her teddy bear close to her chest, not understanding what is happening, between her mother and father.

“whatever. if that's what's necessary to gain money and keep the family together, i wouldn't rule out anything. my work is dirty, but it helps to feed the children and keep them safe. and as long as people keep buying my goods, nothing will change.” he lets go of my arms and takes a step back, but despite this, he still looks at me with a serious look that causes me to tremble. his words are full of coldness and indifference. and his facial expression is like that of someone who has no fear of anything...

during the night the sultry heat does not fade, but continues to persist. our bedroom windows are open, as are our children's windows. the light of the moonlight penetrates our room. gently illuminating our completely naked bodies, after spending a night of pure passion.

my husband tom, is lying on his back. a light layer of sweat illuminates his skin and his muscular body. making it juicier and even more desirable than before. his big penis, is still completely hard and erect. it's gently resting on his lower abdomen, while his big balls are still full. the fat pink mushroom tip glistens slightly, leaking a bit of pre-cum. his long hair is slightly wet with sweat and one arm is resting under his head, flexing his bicep. i too, like him, am completely naked. the body of a pregnant woman, with abundant breasts full of milk. “thank you, my beloved tom”

he stares at me, lying next to him. my long hair covering lightly my face and my body still dripping with sweat and other bodily fluids of our last night of passion. one of his hands caresses my shoulder and his voice is full of passion. “you did well. really well. maybe you shouldn't complain so much all the time” he smiles and his other hand moves the hair out of my face. “if you keep being a good wife, i'm sure we will have many more nights like this in the months to come”

my head rests on his muscular chest. the moonlight softly illuminates our bodies, reflecting our shadows on the wall behind me. dancing sweetly. it's good scent of leather, burnt tobacco and white musk invades my nostrils, clouding my mind. I gently and slowly caress his lightly tanned skin with my fingertips, the small tattoo on his left pectoral at heart level catches my gaze. my name written in cursive, etched into his skin. brings back many sweet memories.

my heartbeat slowly accelerates as i take in his small tattoo and the multiple scars adorning his body. scars caused by a difficult life and a violent and loveless childhood and adolescence. “do you remember when we were in our early twenties? we had been married a few months ago and i remember that one night you came home with your shoulder completely bloody. i remember that they put three bullets in your left shoulder, and i took all three off you with my bare hands. i still remember your screams of pain and all my cries, i was terrified of losing you. when i disinfected your wound and sewed it up myself, because you didn't want to go to the hospital. and i remember changing your bandages every day” i speak to him softly, stroking the small divot on his left shoulder. “two opposites linked for eternity, our souls belong to each other as well as our hearts”

a smile appears on his lips. “i remember. you're so strong, my love. and we really are a good match” he caresses my hair and my face, his movements slow and gentle. “we're like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that can't be separated from each other...”

his sweet caresses, mixed with his words of love which are not always present in our marriage. they are like warm honey to my heart. i slowly close my eyes, abandoning myself to his fingers that tangle in my long wavy blonde hair, now loose. that fall onto the green sheets of our mattress.

“you have to understand, my love” his hands move to my hips, caressing my body and moving my hair away from my face. “you are the mother of my children, you take care of the house. so i can build a future for us. you are everything to me. the most important thing in my life...” his eyes are warm and kind, looking right at me. the light from the night shines gently on his broad chest and my swollen belly.

06.30 of the morning.

i slowly go down the creaking wooden stairs, which lead to the small kitchen along with the living room. the house is particularly quiet, everyone is still sleeping.

from the old wooden door, with opaque glass. i notice the light on and the slight noise of the box television turned on to the news. as soon as i open the door i notice michele, sitting on the dining table slightly bent over with a bowl of hot milk and stale bread. his brown hair is slightly disheveled and his eyes are tired. michele is the oldest of his brothers, he is ten years old and is a carbon copy of tom. both aesthetically and temperamentally. i slowly approach him, with my left hand resting on my maternal womb, covered by the old green dress, caressing it gently.

“good morning michele, why are you already awake?” i ask him softly, bringing my right hand closer to his head, to stroke his messy hair. leaning slightly to give him a sweet kiss on his hair.

he looks up as if he's surprised and then smiles. “hello, mama. i woke up because i was hungry, so i turned on the television and made myself some breakfast... are the little ones still asleep? they usually sleep a lot” he takes a bite from the bread and sips his milk. his brown hair is still disheveled and a few crumbs are stuck on his small white pajamas. “what are you going to do now, mama?”

a sweet smile forms on my lips at his words, i gently caress her soft hair, combing it lightly with my fingers. “very good, michele. yes, everyone is still sleeping” i whisper to him, so as not to wake the children and my husband, who are all still sleeping.

“i have to prepare breakfast. there's apricot jam tart in the oven, why didn't you get it?” i ask him, moving away from michele to approach the kitchen, and open the pot cupboard where the moka is located, to prepare coffee for tom.

the old wooden glass door is opened again. the strong smell of burnt tobacco invades the entire small living room and kitchen. i turn slightly, noticing my husband's tired look. his wavy brown hair gently caresses his broad, muscular shoulders. he is only wearing a pair of white underwear, his big morning erection, despite being covered, is still visible. the hand-rolled cigarette is only half-smoked, hanging from his soft lips. “buongiorno amore”

“buongiorno, amore mio” tom's voice is low and rough, his tired eyes still fixed on me. he takes a drag from his cigarette and smiles at me, his lips full of desire. “i'm really hungry, what have you prepared for me? there's only bread and jam this morning...” his body is a masterpiece of male power and raw sexiness. the white briefs covering his morning erection give his body a touch of male dominance and strength.

his voice is even lower and hoarse in the morning. the eyes cold and fixed on my body, despite my abundant breasts full of milk, after having given birth to five children and waiting for the sixth, with the swollen belly of a visibly pregnant mother. tom is still strongly attracted to me, i can feel it in his gaze, which burns softly and slowly on my body. “uhm... if you want there is some fruit left in the fridge, in the oven there is the apricot jam tart that i prepared yesterday afternoon and the coffee will be ready in a few minutes” he smiles, the desire in his eyes slowly turning into anger and annoyance.

“i don't want to eat cold tart and a piece of fruit, after how much i had to work yesterday i deserve something better” he gets up from the chair, his hands on his hips and takes a step towards me. “or are you too lazy to make me a proper breakfast? and you should know it's not just for me. the kids need breakfast, too” his body and his voice are full of testosterone and anger. his firm, cold voice sends a shiver of worry down my spine. the little one inside me kicks immediately at the sound of his voice. as if he realized something was wrong.

i briefly shift my gaze to michele, his face lowered as he continues to soak the stale bread in hot milk, without daring to look up. but he observes the whole situation from the corner of his eye and i can sense all the hatred that michele feels for his father. and it breaks my heart. i immediately turn my gaze back to my husband, letting a small sigh of sadness leave my lips.

“if you want i can prepare you some hard-boiled eggs, some cured meats and cheeses. but children don't eat much in the morning...”

“so, you have time to bake stupid tarts, but you don't have enough time to make a proper, nutritious breakfast for your family?” he takes a step closer and looks into my eyes, his anger still present in his voice. “as if i'd believe you that the children don't eat much in the morning. you don't even want to make the effort, do you? you don't really care for our sons and daughters” his voice is loud, full of anger and annoyance, but his body still looks masculine and attractive.

little michele's face slowly becomes redder and redder. his hands clenched into two fists, the way his father is talking to his mother. causing him enormous discomfort. i immediately look down at his words, bringing both my hands to my womb, caressing it gently. the little one inside me, not yet born, begins to kick insistently, as if he wanted to protect me from his father. “uhm but... it's the truth tom, i know very well what children prefer to eat for breakfast, and it's something very light. would you like some eggs, with some cured meats and tomatoes, with coffee?”

he sighs deeply and shakes his head. the anger in him slowly turns into a mixture of disappointment and sadness. his voice becomes softer, almost as if he felt guilty for shouting at me in front of the children. “yes, alright fine” he turns around and sits back down next to michele. he takes a long drag of his cigarette and doesn't say anything for a long time. the anger doesn't disappear, but is hidden under a deep sadness. he looks at his son out of the corner of his eye.

in the afternoon the sun is even more scorching, the shutters are closed completely to prevent the heat from entering the house, as is the entrance door which is semi-closed. the sun ruins the vegetables in the garden, it makes the centrioles small and hard, the tomatoes dry without a minimum of juice. michele, eleonora, leonardo and edoardo are out playing with the neighbors. little camilla is currently taking her afternoon nap, in her bedroom shared with eleonora. while i'm standing, in the middle of the small living room, ironing clothes. tom went to town with some associates, to transact some 'business'.

in the afternoon, the house looks peaceful and almost deserted. tom's car is missing from the driveway and our children, except for the little one sleeping in her room, are outside playing with the neighbors. i can feel the warm air through the thin curtains and the sunlight creates delicate patterns of light and shade on the wooden floor. i carefully iron a pile of tom's shirts, before starting with the children's socks and underwear. the television and radio are turned off, focusing on the sound of the irons and the warm breeze coming through the windows. the house is particularly quiet, the only noise present is that of the steam from the hot iron. i spent the last two hours cleaning the house and ironing in complete peace of mind.

the little one inside me is also particularly calm at this moment, as if he too has fallen asleep. he kicks gently from time to time, to make me feel his presence.

as the afternoon wears on, i feel the tiredness slowly creeping into my body. i'm sweating from the summer heat and the exertion from cleaning the house and ironing. my back starts to hurt and my muscles are tired from standing and bending all the time. then the sound of the front door opening breaks the peace of mind and the sound of tom's heavy steps reverberate throughout the house. he has the same tired voice as this morning and his face reflects a mixture of annoyance and anger. the old solid wood entrance door opens slowly. i look up from camilla's little blue t-shirt, noticing my husband entering the house and closing the door behind him, without saying anything. his eyebrows are furrowed and an annoyed frown is present on his handsome masculine face. his well-defined body is hidden by his clothes, but you can feel the roughness and hardness of his body.

“hi love... be quiet please, camilla is taking her nap. everything went fine?”

“do you want me to be quiet in my own damn house?” tom's voice doesn't hide the annoyance and anger in him. he takes off his jacket and t-shirt and throws them next to his bag on the back of a chair. he's only wearing his boxers and black socks, displaying his masculine and hard physique. his skin is tanned and dark in tone, his hair is still messy and filled with sweat.

a loud sigh leaves his lips as he strides towards the bathroom. i lower my gaze again to continue with what i was doing a few moments ago. tom hasn't closed the bathroom door and i can hear him urinating and coughing, due to the many cigarettes he smokes.

a few moments later, the sound of his loud footsteps echo again. tom is back in the living room and heads straight for the fridge. he takes a beer out and opens it without a word. ge takes a few sips and looks into the distance. he speaks slowly after some time and his voice looks a lot softer and even a bit regretful. “sorry, i had a bad day, honey. i know i shouldn't be taking it all out on you” i don't take my eyes off my white t-shirt with yellow stripes, while the steam from the iron slowly flares up in the small living room, a sweet smile forms on my lips at his words.

“don't worry love, what happened?” tom's eyes remain on the white t-shirt i been ironing, as if he wants to make sure i'm not looking at his face. “there's been a problem with a shipment. a large batch of my goods was stolen yesterday during delivery” he looks at you for a moment and takes a sip of his beer. “this month's earning will be very small” afrown appears on his face and his voice is full of worry. my husband's words cloud my thoughts, right now the only thing i think about are our five children and soon to be six. i think about the future of each of them and my heartbeat slowly accelerates. i stop what i was doing and look up to look at my husband. his light blue shirt is slightly unbuttoned and i can glimpse his toned pecs and some short hair.

“my god... as if we already had so much money. and this is exactly why i'm telling you that i wouldn't want to have any more children, tom. we don't have money, i'm telling you this for their own good” tom's mood immediately changes and he looks at me in a more serious manner. as if a huge stone was placed in his stomach.

“listen here little woman. you're pregnant and it's time for you to stop moaning and complaining. i decide how many children we're going to have, not you” he takes a step toward you and speaks with more force in his voice. “i'm trying to do my best to provide for my whole family, and yet you complain as if everything isn't enough for you” i follow my husband with my gaze, raising my head when he comes closer to me so i can look better at his handsome masculine face. his jaw is clenched and i can tell just from the way he looks at me that he is very angry with me right now.

“i have never complained. in fact i have always tried to adapt to your needs, always obeying you. the problem is that you are too selfish, and you are not interested in the well-being of our children” my voice is firm, i don't take my eyes off my husband. observing her dark hazel orbs, which i fell madly in love with and still am in love with.

“i'm scared for their future, tom” his eyes remain on mine, as if he wants to intimidate me. “of course i'm interested in the well-being of my children. i work every day to give them the best life possible. i just feel like you're never satisfied with anything i do” his voice is loud and full of indignation, as he takes a step closer to me. “do you think it's easy to provide for a family with five children? and soon there'll be six...” he gestures to my swollen belly, with disdain. “and if you didn't want to have children, you had to keep your legs closed”

a small sigh escapes my lips. i shift my gaze slightly, looking at the open window near the refrigerator, the sky is still blue and there isn't even a cloud. a few birds fly towards the horizon and in the background you can hear chickens croaking. “i'm not so naïve as to not know that supporting seven people is difficult, and I'm not saying that. but if you had promised me, after i had graduated with top marks, we could have moved to milan and led a better life, with two salaries. but you didn't want to because you kept telling me that career women are whores”

he clenches his jaw, his voice becoming even louder and more aggressive toward me with every word i speak. “you need to accept your role as a mother and wife! i work hard every day to provide for this family, and yet you're out there with your feminist bullcrap, thinking that you can lead a better life somewhere else with your career” he takes another step closer to me. “if you keep criticizing me like that, i'll throw you, and the little whore inside you, out of my house”

my eyebrows furrow slightly at his sharp words, as if they were a thousand sharp blades piercing my heart countless times. i cross both my arms over my chest, forgetting for a moment that the iron is still on. “besides the fact that you're extremely rude, it's not just you who works. i also work hard to take care of you and our children, to keep the house clean and make food for our family, but above all to educate our children and help them with their homework, comfort them and support them, i have to take care of them when they are sick... the only problem is your machismo, i only expressed my opinion but it's you who continues to criticize me for everything i do”

his face becomes even more filled with anger as he looks at me. “oh... you're trying to tell me what you do is similar to what I'm doing for this family, is that it?” he laughs in a sarcastic way and approaches me even more. “aww... poor you, you have to take care of my children and cook some food. you also want to call that 'work'? that's just a normal duty of a woman. a normal woman shouldn't have to work outside of the house like a hooker”

for a moment i shift my gaze slightly to make sure that rom and i haven't woken up little camilla from her afternoon nap, and then look him in the eyes again. at his words i shake my head in negative, not agreeing with him.

my heartbeat slowly accelerates, as does my breathing which slowly becomes heavier. “i don't agree with you at all, just as a man works outside of his home, a woman should too. the only thing i bitterly regret is that i gave up everything for love. i gave up my career as a teacher, i gave up so many things for you, because you didn't want”

tom is more close to me now and can smell the pheromones of my body and my heated skin. he laughs again, in a more mocking and arrogant way, looking at me. “oh, you don't agree with me? then i guess i should kick you out of the house, you feminist whore. it's my house and it's my rules. if i say you're a stay at home wife, then you're a stay at home wife. if i say you're just supposed to have children for me, then that's what you're going to do...”

our faces are a few centimeters apart, my husband's tall and powerful body is slightly bent forward, the protruding vein on the left side of his neck is clearly visible. the tension in the air is palpable, my arms are still folded and the small frown doesn't leave my face. “this is also my home and just as you have your opinions, i have mine and i have the same right as you to express them”

he smiles at me and moves a tiny little bit closer, so that his body is pressed against mine. he's only wearing his boxers, and i can feel the warmth coming from his hard muscles and the heat and sweat in his body. “so you think i'm going to be like all those weak men who are dominated by their women?” he laughs at me in a rough and arrogant way and puts his hand on my waist, while looking into my eyes. i can feel the strength and masculine power coming in waves coming from his body and his breath. the little one i carry in my womb kicks slightly, as if he can feel all the tension between me and his father. his large right hand lightly squeezes my left hip, even through the light fabric of my dress i can feel the roughness of his hand. his breathing is heavy and slightly stresses my face, while my heartbeat accelerates more and more. “i'm not saying this, i don't want to dominate anyone... but we have the same rights and the same priorities”

“oh really?” his voice becomes low and i realize he's smiling at me again. the strength of his grip on my left hip becomes even more intense, as his fingertips dig into my skin a little. i can't help but feel the masculine and dominating presence of his body, and at the same time feel the passion and lust in his voice. “you have to accept what your place is. you're my wife and as a wife, your duty is to take care of my family. so don't you dare talk back to me again...”

the sun is slowly setting, the sky has turned a pale orange and pale pink. the birds fly high in the sky and the cicadas have just started their monotonous song. all seven of us are sitting at the table, having dinner in complete tranquility. the television is on and the journalist's voice fills the small kitchen together with the small living room. the metal forks tap lightly on the ceramic plates, while we dine in religious silence.

the family dinner is quiet and calm. everyone is eating their food in complete silence, only occasionally accompanied by the sound of forks and knives on plates. the television is on and the journalist's voice is the only thing being heard in the kitchen and small living room. tom's daughter camilla, who is the younger of the two girls, is sitting on her little feet on the chair. she takes some bites from her plate and looks at her father with a slight smile on her face. her blonde hair is curled up and her light brown eyes are filled with youth and innocence. little camilla moves her toes slightly, then taps them gently on the wooden chair and happily chews her morsels of meat with tomato and white onion. his gaze is on his father, while tom is focused on the news on television.

michele, eleonora, leonardo and edoardo eat their dinner in religious silence. occasionally looking up to watch television. “what did you four do with the neighbors, today?” i ask sweetly to michele, eleonora, leonardo and edoardo.

leonardo looks at me with a little smile and answers. “we played outside. we chased each other and made up some small games” tom is still eating his food in silence and looks at the television. once again, the only sound heard is the eating of food. his expression is neutral and his eyes continue to look at the television. he's still thinking about the theft of the goods this morning.

hii 🥨 how are you? i'm so so happy that december has started, i can't wait for december 8th to put up the christmas tree and i should also start making gifts for christmas 🙃 even though i will be swamped with work and driving school, i will still try to post once a week. i'm so sorry for the grammatical and spelling errors, but english is not my native language. xoxo flo.

[pensieri-liberi-nella-mente]

Anima candida come neve

Cosa ci fai in questo mondo malato?

Sei una rosa che sboccia

In un gelido inverno

Rara come pietre preziose

Tanto fragile come vetro

Speranza di mondo nuovo sei

Non cancellare il tuo sorriso

Che è stupendo come il sole

Nel cielo mattutino

[sinestetica-mente]

Sento che queste montagne mi appartengono.

Come l’acqua, si sono infiltrate dolcemente, ma con decisione, nelle crepe del mio cuore.

La mia anima vaga libera, nascondendosi talmente bene che non so se quelle nuvole siano tali o sia proprio lei, la mia anima errante.

-Tea

[anima--fragile]

Amo guardarti dormire

Mi trasmetti tranquillità

[anima-complicata-80]

“Un giorno ti vorresti svegliare senza avere più nulla senza avere ansie e paure..ti fai mille domande ti chiedi perché proprio a te..perché la tua anima e così debole così fragile ma nn ci sn risposte..o forse sì..perché sei troppo fragile ecco perché…e ti ammali più degli altri…” 😓💔

[fioredialabastro]

Come un albero di fico in inverno

Ci sono giorni dove la stanchezza prende il sopravvento. Lo so che l'impazienza è frutto delle pressioni sociali, che ciascuno ha i propri tempi e che anche i momenti apparentemente statici preparano in realtà la strada per quelli più dinamici. Ne sono consapevole, soprattutto perché lo sto anche sperimentando nella mia interiorità, imparando ad affidarmi di più a Dio in ciò che trascende il mio controllo. Volendo usare una similitudine evangelica, mi sento come quell'albero di fico in inverno, che ad una visione generale e superficiale sembra sempre rinsecchito, emaciato, fragile, quando in verità, man mano che si avvicina la primavera, sviluppa tanti piccoli germogli, così minuscoli che si possono scorgere solo mediante un'osservazione ravvicinata e attenta ai dettagli. Eppure, a volte vorrei solo non stare più in pena per il mio prossimo futuro lavorativo, non vagare più nella totale incertezza e scorgere qualche progetto concreto a cui aggrapparmi tra pochi mesi. Vorrei anche ricordarmi che cosa si provi ad essere desiderata sinceramente da un uomo, sentire il tepore accogliente di un abbraccio, il contatto con altre membra palpitanti, quel sacro fuoco in grado di riscaldare le gelide mura marmoree del mio tempio abbandonato, quel soffio vitale capace di dare vita ad una statua travolta dall'edera. È come se un'assenza così prolungata negli anni mi avesse fatto precipitare in una sorta di insicurezza, tale da non farmi sentire più bella fisicamente, né femminile, né attraente; tuttavia, nel frattempo sono diventata profondamente fiera della mia identità e come una fiera vengo vista dagli occhi maschili, perché dolce, gentile, ma potentemente capace di penetrare i loro pensieri con uno sguardo, squarciare i veli della finzione, rivelare verità scomode, chiedere la loro anima in cambio della mia. Ciò mi fa sorridere amaramente, perché quando ero fragile, mi volevano possedere e dominare; ora che sono libera, mi vogliono sedare o evitare. Tuttavia, anelo ancora a quell'amore mai provato completamente, così reale e al contempo divino; so che esiste, il mio diletto sposo; così lo reclamo nel vento che ulula tra gli scogli durante una tempesta, lo cerco come un falco che perlustra le praterie, e lo attendo pazientemente, come un albero di fico in inverno.

[raccontidialiantis]

Ti prego: comanda il mio corpo

Prendi possesso pieno della anima. Plasma la mia mente. Perché sono fragile, sono donna: ho bisogno che tu mi domini, che mi dia sicurezza, protezione. Ho necessità assoluta di sentirmi apprezzata, soprattutto quando ti soddisfo, quando ti servo. Lascia che adori il tuo corpo di uomo forte e la tua meravigliosa anatomia maschile.

Usa tutto il mio essere: le mie morbide colline, i dolci orifizi e le mie labbra sono tue, per il tuo piacere. E poi sorridimi. Sfogati pure su di me, se ti farà sentire meglio. Perché servire te è la mia unica ragione di vita e il mio unico scopo d'amore. Poi potremo anche parlare, ridere e scherzare. Di tutte queste cose è fatto l'amore.

RDA

[spiteful-crow]

Jon, the concept behind the term „anima“, and Carl Jung

This is going to be a small info dump about the term „anima“. Everyone who has finished Sherlock Holmes Chapter One knows that Sherlock calls Jon his anima before they enter the garden.

It‘s an important moment if you (like myself) are struggling to understand what Jon is. Imaginary friend doesn’t quite fit, imo, as Jon is shown to be too independent to be one. Why would Sherlock desperately call for him and ask him to „intervene“, if he could simply imagine Jon at any time? It’s implied that Jon has a will on his own and that his departure is a decision Sherlock cannot simply revoke.

This is where the term „anima“ comes in handy. In the art book, Jon is described at a personification of Sherlock’s survival instincts, his will to live, and his desire to be happy. And this already kinda describes what an anima is.

The anima, in historical philosophy, is the irrational part of the soul, as opposed to the rational mind.

Here are some other definitions which can be found online:

an individual's true inner self that in the analytical psychology of Carl Gustav Jung reflects archetypal ideals of conduct

an inner feminine part of the male personality (I will ignore this definition for now and focus on the less gendered one)

There is also a graphic, which is supposed to describe what an anima (Jon) and a persona (Sherlock) are:

I also found this more detailed explanation, which makes the term easier to grasp:

Picture the surface of the ocean. Above the water is everything you are aware of. Beneath the water is everything you are unaware of. All of it is "you". That water is the line between conscious and unconscious. On the surface of the water is a ship, a big iron-clad battleship for most people. The ship is there to protect the ocean from all the big horrible things outside of it. That's your persona. The persona is like a Navy with a mission to protect the whole ocean. At least, it thinks that is what it is supposed to do. It is led and driven by Captain Ego. It so happens that there's also a submarine underneath the ship. It has the same job as the ship on the surface, except it protects against all the horrible things in the depths of the ocean. This submarine is what Jung called the "anima" […] . The pilot of this submarine, usually opposed in almost every way to Captain Ego is The Shadow. Most of us walk around all day at the mercy of that ego and its persona, except of course when the Shadow rears its face and does something out of the blue that we did not expect.

This figurative ocean already explains Jon‘s nature fairly well - unlike Sherlock (the persona) who faces the outer world, Jon (the anima) protects Sherlock (the person) from what’s beneath the surface. Jon is the irrational part, which wants to forget the traumatic memories, which wants to have fun and enjoy life and which doesn’t prioritise the truth as much as it prioritises happiness and wellbeing.

According to Jung, every person has a persona and an anima. In Sherlock‘s case, his circumstances lead to these two parts of himself being separated from one another so much that they form two whole people. I think it shows very well how much Sherlock wants to distance himself from everything irrational by creating a whole separate person to outsource his irrational parts into.

In this context, the ending and Jon’s departure can be seen as Sherlock picking the truth over his own wellbeing and ultimately severing his ties to the irrational part of himself, which wants happiness. It explains why Sherlock accuses Jon of lying - because coping is not „truthful“ from a rational standpoint. It also explains why Jon seems so unhappy in each ending - because from his point of view, Sherlock has made the wrong decision - Sherlock doesn’t allow himself the „weakness“ of being human and therefore being unable to handle the painful truth. And this explains pretty well why Sherlock’s psyche is so fragile in The Awakened and why he desperately begs for Jon to return. Sherlock cannot handle the horrors he faces without the little, irrational part of himself, which shields him from trauma and does the coping for him. However, submarine under the ocean can no longer be located by him, because he has chosen to no longer listen to it and let it protect his psyche, and the horrors attack him from below the figurative surface (which is funny considering Cthulhu lives under the literal surface lol).

A person cannot be happy if they only value rationality and neglect their emotional needs entirely. Happiness is a feeling, too, after all. And this is the person Sherlock becomes post Chapter One. His pursuit of the truth pushes him to the brink of death multiple times, because without Jon, Sherlock will not pick his own wellbeing over his ideals. No matter what horrors he faces, he doesn’t know when to stop, so he doesn’t stop until he sees the case to the end. He is no longer in touch with the irrational part of himself, which wants to survive.

This lack of survival instinct can be seen in the books, too, imo. Book!Holmes shows no fear of death when facing Moriarty, which in itself is already questionable.

Is it healthy to be excited about dying for the greater cause? I am no psychologist, but that’s definitely nothing I would describe as healthy. There is also the part where book!Holmes describes himself as a brain. Oh well.

I am rambling a lot so I will put an end to this, but I want to conclude that Jon is definitely buried somewhere deep, and he is a very essential part of Sherlock, but Sherlock will definitely need to find a way to reconnect with this part if he wants to be happy. And he better start listening to Jon again, too!

I like to think that he does, at the end. I like to think that ultimately, he will choose himself over everything else and find happiness and peace, because he deserves nothing less.