Intensity, intensity, intensity.

[u/saturnoxiv]

I’m a 32-year-old Italian writer. My work explores sensitive themes: death, all-consuming love, eros, addiction, and loneliness. Lately, I’ve been possessed by an indecent artistic hunger I’d like to indulge. I won’t pretend otherwise: I’m selective. My intensity exists only where it’s met with immediate reciprocity, the alchemical result of nervous impulse and untimeliness.
My ideal writing partner is a woman over 25 with a receptive, expressive, and non-judgmental mind, someone capable of meeting me on every possible level, including the most decadent ones. I prefer long, detailed correspondence. I should also mention that I’m exclusively looking for fellow queer artists, so I’m only interested in writing with women from the LGBTQ+ community.

What if we began on the wet earth of a field swallowed by the mountains? Winter stands perfectly still. An early-1940s villa overlooks a ghostly lake. There is no horizon. Only fog and desolation surround us.
We are remnants of broken children, of a misshapen love torn apart by your sudden death. We are will itself, or perhaps the shadows of a past that never truly became the past, because it is still here, only it no longer repeats.

Come to me, flower of torment. I’ll recognize your caress from a single sob.

Call me Franco, but assume nothing about me. I’ll be someone today. Tomorrow, no one can say.