Stamattina ho scritto quello che poi è diventato un articolo del blog. Stamattina ho scritto quello che poi è diventata una lettera di perdono per te.

I look at you while you are sleeping and my heart breaks. How you stretch your body changing position, the sweet baby noise you make. How you involuntary move those little feet. The way you smile at me, opening the eyes for a second, for a second after re-close them and come back to sleep. I fix your cover; I cover well your body. I softly kiss you and there it is: my heart still breaks. Writing in English seems trivial to me but what is not if looked at from afar? The smile of some other children is nothing to us. The skin of some old mother is nothing to us. We have to entry in the picture to see. So, try to entry in mine before talk. A young bride willing to get old and die with her young groom. A young broom broken in those moments of awareness because aware of the fact that the only thing his wife asks for, he will not be able to give her. Those two old people touching and smile at each other it’s something I won’t be able to give you, my love. And for that, please forgive me. Not now but when old you’ll have nothing more than a memory of me. Nothing more than a far memory; maybe faded, maybe vanished. Please forgive my death, my love. Not now but on full moon nights at least. When Paola shines and there will be wind, silence and peace.