The Sink Was Full Of Fishes

he stayed with the three sheets of paper she had written a longtime after stopping the reading, like holding a precious relic. A piece of her soul among his fingers.
He wasn't brave enough to battle against such a total love, he wasn't strong enough: he did try, oh! he did, and with tenacity, and he did briefly believe to the possibility of relegating Melania into "friendship" scope, a special kind of friendly link maybe, and maybe with a special affection in it. But the lesson he did learn from his efforts had been that even if sometimes they tend to feel similarly, friendship and love are two realities undeniably different that aren't made for exchangin their values.
He read her letter once more.. and again a third, a fourth and a fifth time.
He strated to call himself bonker to let her believe, driven by him he was all happy with Kass. He went backward with memories and he saw himself digiting on screen the false words, and he pited himself for the masochistic satisfaction he did feel back then after pressuring "Enter" to let her see them too. He did know Melania would have , after reading that, forever let him go, respecteful of his choice and surrending to the happiness he was faking to have newly found.
Why had he chosen to send the wally email, why? Did he want to shake her with it? Or hurt her? Or...
"I was just... hoping that she would have told me .. to not do that at all."
That was the truth.
Scary, unmisseabletruth. And it was makin him feel sick.
That was the truth, but Melania couldn't know it and pushed by his example she had chosen bad ways to survive, by being with that glamorous playboy, Jacob... Oh God! she and that individual...
He imagined the scene, he dared to for the first time.Small flashes of visual concepts, minutious and sadic cerebral suppositions about that and a sudden, ultimate fury, cathartic in its roboant rise wrapped him up.
He throwed the letter away, graspin his own head with both hands violently, like he was willing to excerpt it from the body and blinded by wrath he flung against the wall all that was on the desk: the pen holder, the southafrican ivory paper knife that broke in two pieces, teh factory marketing book that fell with a weighting, dull thud, a notebook, two boxes...
Then he moved all that wasn't steadly fixed on the floor: the chair, the little table the phone was onto, his large mirror on wheels that almost crashed too.
Far from being placated, he increased the sound of the stereo till the disc went distorted and he started to vibrate punchs to the wall till knuckles were all blood.
And not even then, seeing his beautiful hands with rivers of red around, he stopped to punch.
He wasn't even feeling that unimposrtant plague: if only along that poisoned blood also the mortality oppressing his soul could have exited from him!
He did tell her he was happy... happy without her!! How she could have believed such a lie?
Why he had made so much to convince her then, and why she had dismissed herself till the point of stayin with a fop that could have never ever made her happy?
Why such an endless grief, such an unbearable and unrestrained anxiety of annulment, why he couldn't be in peace without Melania?
"..She's electric, she's in a family full of eccentrics, she's done things I'd never expected and I need more time..."
More time. Time at his disposal was running out.The gig: it was his last chance maybe to make remedy of all mistakes...