April 11 2009
The fragility of our existence.
A moment, few starts and so many histories about us little humans are cancelled like a hand that passes on the tarnished glasses of a winter window.
So many little souls with their histories disappeared in the tremor of the night, sucked perhaps by a nature that, often martoriata, remembers us that it exists.
It exists and is a mistress of this land where human we are only hosts and often ungrateful.
We live as serenely as possible and in peace between us, not always there is the time of asking for forgiveness or of saying words about love sent back for so many reasons and when the wings throb arrives is by now too late, time does not remain any more.
A thought about the one who has lost the life, to the one who has lost everything, to the one who has saved or has tried us, so many lives, often only for one thank you.
To whom has it brought a word of comfort and a dough plate.
Now it is necessary to start living.
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