coming

RINA

One of the things I'd come to terms with was being perpetually sad. But since I stepped into Bologna, I'd been nothing but a creepy clown. Wearing this smile that stretched up to my eyes and beyond. Nico, my seven-year-old cousin, the boy that always gave me a run for my money, had called me out on the strangeness of my smile. Asking me if I'd been high on nitrous oxide. However he'd gotten that knowledge, it was between him and the moon goddess. I wouldn't stress myself to know.

Peace was grossly underrated. This, I'd come to realize. And having all the wealth in the world, living in a palace, eating junks or visiting the world's most beautiful city did not equate to peace.

Where should I start?

Sleep. Oh, yes. Even though I was crammed in bed with Mammà, I dozed like a baby. I slept without crowding my chest, or checking the doors. I slept without setting an alarm every thirty minutes or waking with a start because of some horrid dream.

For once, Piccolo Maestro wasn't ming