1. Cuddle with Massimo

Transcript

Hello, stranger. I've missed you. And those eyes.

I've missed those eyes. They're amazing. And your mind.

Your mind is so beautiful. Just like you. I want to tell you a story.

But first, I want you to stop. Take a moment. A moment for you.

I want you to get comfortable. Lie down. Close those perfect eyes.

And let go. Let it all go. And let me take care of you.

Let me take care of everything. Find a comfortable position. Feel the softness of the sheets around you.

Or the sofa that you're on. Now, take a slow, deep breath and exhale. Again.

Breathe in. Exhale. Let it all go.

I'm here now. I could stare at you for hours. And I'm not going anywhere.

I'm going to tell you a story. And by the end, you're going to feel good. You're going to feel beautiful.

Because you are. You can't help it. Remember, you don't have to do anything.

Just relax. Completely. Feel the stress melt away, like it was never there.

And let me whisper a story in your ear. This is the best part of my day. Being beside you like this.

Relax. And listen. Nothing else.

Let the words envelop you and take you away. To that peaceful bliss your mind deserves. Listen.

This is the story of a girl with a big heart and dreams made of clouds that always seemed to float away. That spring, when she was 17, a boy came waltzing into her life with red bouquets and flowery words, things that made her smile too hard. She smiled a lot that spring, sometimes for no reason.

Sometimes, walking down the street, past the boulangeries that smelled of pain au chocolat, she'd brush shoulders with a passerby, lost in her own lovestruck thoughts. She'd apologize, a little more than necessary. Then, she'd be on her way.

And before long, she'd smile again. She'd shove her hands deeper into her pockets and take in the air. She'd look up at the clear blue sky and see the clouds, those dreams again.

Then, she'd think of the boy, her boy, and break into a run. Sometimes, they'd sneak out quietly. They'd go to their favorite place, well, his favorite place.

Her favorite place was wherever he was. And they'd stare into each other's eyes. They'd talk of silly things and future things, together things, forever things.

They'd talk of Paris and Venice and going to school together. They'd talk of boys and girls and girls and dogs and books and tell stories that they'd told before, only a different way this time. Then, they'd stop.

They'd always stop. He'd hold her hand and touch her face, and he'd say the words. She'd melt.

She'd always melt. It wasn't a voluntary thing, the falling into his arms. It was physics.

It was gravity. It was chemistry. It was beautiful.

He was beautiful. This was beautiful. And this beautiful boy thought that she was beautiful.

And that was the most beautiful thing of all, the way they fit together. When she got back home and sank into her bed, she'd stare at the ceiling, and then she'd play the day's events over in her mind, detail by precious detail. She'd touch her lips and try to remember what it felt like.

No matter, she'd say, I'll kiss him tomorrow, and then she'd fall asleep. It was like that all spring that year, that year when she was 17. Time was nothing but the distance between where she was and being with the boy, that boy, her boy.

Time is a funny thing. It doesn't stay. Forward.

Always forward. If she could, she would have taken that spring and put it in a box for always. Her world was perfect.

Everything was as it should be. Every breath was bliss. But boys are fickle things sometimes, and springs don't stick around.

They turn to summers, and falls, and wicked winters. Cold, heartless, freezing winters. It was winter that year, when she turned 28.

She was different then, more practical. She'd seen the world, and had a high-profile job. She was successful, driven.

She was proud of the woman she'd become. That night, she took her shoes off and got into bed, sinking into a sea of warm blankets. You might think she smiled, but she didn't.

She was the same girl, but she was different. She lay down and stared at the ceiling, and then, she thought about the boy. Her boy.

Only, he wasn't anymore. He'd up and left her, all those years ago, without so much as an explanation. Boys will be boys, her mother had told her.

He wasn't good for you, her best friend had said. But she hadn't believed them. She had thought that it was her fault, somehow.

That she'd made it happen. She'd cried a lot that day. It took a while, but she got over him.

And then, she'd gone about her business, living, loving. But never with reckless abandon. Never foolishly, never completely.

Always holding back, just a little, just in case. The last thing she wanted was for another spring to turn to winter in plain sight, you see. That was the thing.

She sighed and drew the covers in some more. And then, it happened. Her phone beeped.

She had a new message. She took her phone in her hands, half asleep, barely paying attention to what she was looking at, absentmindedly navigating through her DMs. And then, she froze.

Her heart skipped a beat. She sat up, phone in hand, hand over mouth. The message read, Hi, it's me.

I'm here. I miss you. She stared at the screen for a long time, all kinds of emotions taking turns washing over her.

In the end, it was all she could do to contain herself, and then reply, Hi. That was all she said. A solitary hi.

Two lonely letters. He messaged back, I want to see you. Please.

Her heart raced. He was here again. He was back.

She searched for a word to describe what she was feeling. Could it be? No, surely not.

Was she… Joy. The word was joy. She was certain of it.

She was pretty good with words. The next morning, she was up, earlier than she should have been. Dressed, ready, but not for work.

For something else today. That perfect phone was ringing again, heart still racing. She ran down the stairs, just like she'd done so many nights before, in another house that seemed so far away now, from another time, another place.

She stopped at the door, and held her own breath. She bit her lip. A knock at the door.

She put her hand on the doorknob, heart racing. She turned it, heart still racing. She opened the door.

There he was, standing right in front of her. He was real again, staring into her eyes again. Her eyes, no one else's.

It was them again, him and her. The girl and the boy. Her boy.

The most beautiful boy in the whole world. They stood there for moments, saying nothing. And then slowly, gently, barely daring to break the silence, he spoke.

Hey, he said, barely whispering. Hey, she said, so softly that you could only hear it if you knew it was coming. They stared at each other.

She was breathing hard. He ran his hands through his hair and then tried to speak. Nothing came.

She bit her lip. Then she spoke. Come in, she said.

He walked in and stood in the center of the room. She shut the door and turned, resting her back against the door, hands on either side, as if to stop anyone from going past her. He turned to face her, took two steps towards her, and stopped.

She stepped away from the door. She was an arm's length away from him. From his face.

From that face. She was melting again. It was happening.

It was physics. It was gravity. It was chemistry.

He made his way towards her. But suddenly, very suddenly, she stopped him, placing a swift hand on his chest and pushing him away. Wait, no, you don't get to just… show up and… you hurt me.

You left. She stepped away from him. He stayed.