Per leggere l’articolo in italiano, cliccare qui.
I love Milan. Milan is young. Milan is beautiful. Milan is a woman. Milan is sexy, it’s audacious. Milan is hidden. Milan is a party. Milan is all the cities of Italy together; it is North, it is South, it is the Center. I love the noise of the first trams that remind you that the alarm clock is going to sound. I love being able to wake up before the trams and before the alarm clock sounds.
I’m quiet. I do not want to disturb my man but he always hears me, so I kiss him and then I stop. I wait a minute, he is sleeping. Tiptoeing, I arrive in the kitchen and I let the smell of coffee inebriate the room. It’s still dark outside. Everyone is sleeping, I am awake.
With the cup in my hand I go out to the balcony. I watch Brera. It’s cold, the body wakes up, thoughts start their formation. A new day is about to begin – Milan will soon return to its liveliness. Soon, but not yet.
Returning inside, I shower, do my hair and put on makeup. I step in front of the wardrobe and run my fingers sweeping across the clothes and sweaters. Today is a special day. Every day in Milan is different: full and ambitious. I love to think that I still do not know what I will think tonight of this day. It depends on me, depends on Milan. It depends on us.
Before going out, like a diva, I love looking in the mirror and spraying my perfume on my neck, as they do in movies and in advertisements. As if the gesture alone could enrich me with personality, grit, self-esteem. Since I believe it, it does. People will ask me who my perfume is made by, I will smile.
The first lights of dawn paint the sky the color of dreams – the beautiful ones, those that should never end. Some cars and trams interrupt the silence of Via Mercato at irregular intervals. There’s still time, I’m still there.
As I walk through the streets of Brera, I count the open and closed bars. I imagine myself sitting in each of them – reading, talking, thinking, listening. Maybe I’ll come back to everyone. Maybe not. Traveling through the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele, I arrive in the Duomo. The sky is still the color of dreams, for a little while, still enough.
Soon the terrace will open at the top and I will be there. I will go up first because I love looking at Milan from above and because today is a special day, more than yesterday and less than tomorrow. Every day is unique in Milan. Every day is madness. Every day is euphoria.
The spiers from here are different, more beautiful, more true. I approach and peer among them, Milan is now awake and already hectic, lit and bustling. I still have some time, so I think of the value of time and the seasons that pass. When I’ll think back to today and what I wanted, I’ll wonder, “did I get it?” Yes, no, maybe, it does not matter. It is easier to get something you want and desire. I love getting what I want.
The day at work flies with appointments, meetings and presentations. I do not even realize it’s almost time to leave. I still feel my scent; I smile again. Today I want to spoil myself. I will go downtown, in the fashion district and enter my favorite boutique. I’ll try something, maybe I’ll find the shoes I need – the ones that with the right outfit will make his eyes shine as soon as he sees me. I know they will shine anyway. The perfume will suffice.
Milan is vibrant tonight. I’m back to the Duomo, but I see it from another angle while the candle lights up our table. Milan is flawless with its imperfect beauty. Milan is a contradiction. Milan is elegant. I am the protagonist, the main actress of the same dream that started just before the alarm sounded – a moment after the real dream ended.
I look at him, he looks at me. We look at Milan. The same city that is now pulled to party soon will change again, turn off a bit ‘of lights, but never all of them. Someone will be late and Milan will accompany him home. Milan will caress his thoughts while walking. It’s not too late to change, this someone will think. Milan is alone now, but just for a minute. Some other alarm clock is already going to play.
Editor’s note: This article is proudly sponsored by Ferragamo Parfums SpA and endorsed by Flawless Milano. We thank you for supporting the sponsors who make Flawless Milano possible.
Photo credit © Federica Santeusanio