ENCLOSING THE DAWN
The air is sharp against my knees; they’re covered only by the thin veil of my tights. Each step is a beat on the asphalt of this avenue, and that dull sound marks the minutes separating me from home. It’s the only noise I hear, besides the faint jingle of the keys in my coat pocket. The breeze keeps catching the fabric and pulling it open. If I look behind me, the sky is still dark. I only see tiny glowing rectangles, windows of someone already awake. Or still awake. That’s what I’m leaving behind. Ahead of me, instead, there’s a modest light; a sun trembling on the verge of rising. What a relief to look in that direction. I keep walking alone in an almost sacred atmosphere. This is my ritual, and the only spectators are the majestic trees outlining my path. It had been a long time since I last came home in daylight. But the freedom I’m feeling now reminds me why it once meant so much to me. It feels as though I haven’t wasted a single moment of my time, having lived even through the night. That hour belongs to me, in a way. Even if the shadows and their blurred edges feel hard to interpret, the brightness of dawn dissolves all my doubts and I return to peace. The darkness has slipped away without me noticing, and this moment feels like the most incredible gift of all. Just a few metres separate me from my front door, and I already feel nostalgic for this sensation. This muffled limbo I’m in will soon be contaminated by noise until it transforms completely. I wish I could enclose this air, this silence, these scents and this light in a refuge of my own. A nest I could return to when my mind spirals into frantic delirium. I wish I could open a door and find myself here.
Credits: Photo by Tiziano Demuro / Styling Andrea Franco / Photographer Assistant Quentin Buttin / Production by Serena Vallone / Still Life by Emilio Murolo / Text by Melania Musci