All posts tagged as love


The usher of the Usher House

The mistake( The Usher house ), 2019

The dwelling for humans is not just a place made of brick, concrete, wood or palm leaves.

The house for men is not just a shelter.

House is home, as an inner place that is part of us.

Pretend for a moment that you can never go home, or if you never have again the opportunity to buy a new one.

Something in you would be lost forever.


I had a sudden insight on the way to Damascus: love on a shoestring.

One home and one eternal love, Mr Usher.

A big heart, even if it’s sick, beats for you.


A twin is always an alter ego.

Each of us has one twin (almost always invisible to the eye) who is born with us.

And even though he’s different from us, we love him madly. Maybe we love it even more.

And if your twin is one real sister in flesh and blood, the relationship is naturally incestuous.

Dear Mr Usher, it’s inevitable.


And finally, we have to deal with the farewell ceremony, Mr Usher.

Even if Madeline is sick and dying, you will always see her as the most desirable and beautiful woman.

To say adieu is a secret art that few people know.

Thus it’s easy to panic and makes fatal mistakes.


You bury her with your pain, fast, as fast as possible.

Maybe too fast.

Because love cannot be buried.

We can obliterate the past, but the past never forgets us.

And because of the hurry, Madeline remains there, in her coffin, waiting for you in the empty dark house, in the silent crypt.


Then you just have to wait.

You are feverishly awaiting the whole to decay naturally, the house and the crypt.

May everything turn into ash, so light and impalpable that you can’t hold it between your fingers.

And Madeline will tenderly accept your roses as a symbol of eternal love.

Until next


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A feeling of infinite dreary

Nevermore ( The raven ), 2019

The first days of June, the end of spring.

Light clothes and scented nights

We have known each other recently.

Communication between us is like a raging river, despite the age difference (he could be my father).

We communicate even when we don’t speak, looking deeply into each other’s eyes.

The night surprises us sitting on a bench.

Suddenly I am overwhelmed by a feeling of infinite sadness for the poignant beauty of the fleeting moment.

I’m 19 and still can’t understand exactly what I feel.


He immediately perceives what I am feeling.

He looks at me, takes a deep breath, and recites me a poem.

I am still a young student, but I also have a solid literary culture.

It is an unusual poem, one that I can never forget.

He bewitched me. He and his poetry.

A river of words hammers my ears and mind – ‘ wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before ‘.

THE RAVEN is a narrative poem of love and death.


He is a unique person.

He loves ‘after’ like ‘before’ and is never in a hurry while he makes love.

He caresses me, and he calls me ‘my little dove’.

He tells me that he feels a deep sense of peace after making love with me.

But that night, another bird was evoked.

That same raven, black as night.


It is no coincidence that from that moment, the colour black became for us a symbol in our communications, a sort of message in code,

and it is always present in our most intimate and secret life.

Even after 40 years.

Even now that he is dead.

Black is an intensely erotic colour.

I always thought it was (at least subconsciously) also for Edgar Allan Poe.

His literary women always end up, dressed in virginal white, inside a black coffin sooner or later.

Black remains a colour always in fashion and is perfect for women’s lingerie.


That poem sealed the beginning of a story that will never end.

Even in the darkness of the grave, on the wings of a raven.


I believe that love is not a feeling at all.

Most people call love what passion, affection, tenderness, and projection of their own desires for possession and redemption is.

Less frequently, it is also a feeling of esteem and profound respect.

In my experience, love is a state of being:

I ‘became love’ because of that person, and I discovered that I am no longer who I was before.

Love means turning into a different, completely new person.

And being cannot vanish, fade into thin air.

So, do you seriously think love can end?

Until next


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DANIELA BOMBELLI Digital Art background image