I look at the faces that emerge from those who imagine as windows. There are no curtains to be moved and the viewer is only those outside. Eyes that smile, eyes that are stuck in time and remain embedded in the memory forever. I hit them while his eyes overflow.
Then I stop. I stop. A different house, large, heart-shaped, with a small paved with colored stones, now pink, now blue. It looks like the home of a child, but really, I do not have even come to terms, he was a boy of twenty-eight years. A snowboard on one side. Two or three photos. A smile. A name and age. On the same colored pavé a bench seat and a woman, I see his shoulders. A mother stops, staring at one of photos, lost years of memories.
started to hurt my heart. How much pain in that picture. How much pain inside that small picture displayed under a hot sun in February, on the hillside sloping down to Lake Nemi. What a contrast between the pain as dull and wind noise. Without the wind blowing over on that hill. Ruffles his hair and face makes you crack the coldest tears. I think about my daughter's pain and how pain can not be measured, I think that mother's pain is more intense. I think that life has received a gift and had to return. I see the image of Abraham about to offer his son Isaac to the Father. In that case Father stopped him. Not here. The mother made the sacrifice and gave his son. Now she is lying there next to her son. Lies dead while being alive. It's too bad the heart in front of that picture: my feet and take me away.
Through that erodes from the New leads in the old. I realize that the bronze gate in front of me pour just before turning on the left. The gate stands a large star of David. Strange to see the curiosity and eventually overcome the pain and I'm closer to that gate closed. It almost seems to say "Here we do not enter unless you believe in a certain way," but someone, a Grand Theatre said "The death is' \u200b\u200bnational level. " No matter what and who you believed. In the end, we are all equal. I want to open that gate, but go on. I have an important appointment.
I almost thought of when it happens to me. While I continue my journey I try to think where I'd like to rest: in the ground, definitely. A single flower, a gardenia, with its glossy green leaves and fragrant white flowers. No photos. Best memories.
Arrival in the small chapel where there is you. I attack the scent of roses. You are there in your coffin of cherry, but I imagine, because now you are no longer a definite presence. You're everywhere but not in front of me. 're Around, breathing in the fresh air, the wind that strokes my head, the scent that tickles the nostrils, eyes and tears in the hand that touches the wood. In the pain that pierces the heart, remembering that pushing the blade inside, the good-natured smile that I remember from his chair and spoke to me, kiss in the evening sank into my skin, the warnings you gave a kid when I went home, in a tired voice on the phone, eyes tired and stunned in recent days, the hand holding mine, pain in your face just died, in the serene gaze of the rest.
Cut a rose in tears, the profile of free iron that kept her chained with the rest. Free some petals that slid on the wood as if he could caress his face. I leave a kiss in the hope that it will fly to you, I turn and walk away.
the sun is setting. The air is colder. The heart is now lost in silent pain and no tears. I hold a rose, but I fancy. The tear drops from her face but I do not get wet. Are elsewhere, are in a place where there is nothing. I think they say that at the "least" good times you spent: the last birthday, last birthday, the last party. Then start the "first" bad times: the first Christmas, the first anniversary of the first .. without her. 's so ... I say that from pain comes , that this pain is strong and sustains you. I find it hard to believe at this time . They tell me that it takes time to regain his smile. But I do not think we can ever succeed . I am told that sometimes I even feel guilty because I will run a smile and I feel for not having respect for you just because I learned to smile again. I tried it. It 'really so .. They tell me things that I feel. I just feel a void. A terrible void. A void that becomes more profound when I call you and I realize that lifting the phone I can not do it. A full vacuum of silence that will answer my questions when I want to add it.
Then I remember that I promised not to cry. I lick the tears as if they were injured. I pretend that the tears are now pushing cold wind in my eyes. Here is paved with stones.
's mother. As the pain is deeper than mine? I do not know if there is a way to measure pain. No. There is not. The pain is just pain.
Through the arch and go back to the parking lot. I open the door, watching the rest of the lake, do 'kiss my rose, smile, stand on the seat, turn the engine and childbirth.
I want to stay here with you, but I have to come back to life.
tear their hair out in defense of public schools, they say, attacked by the President Berlusconi and then the scorn for their children: Remember the thirteen, the child comiziante son of parents militants, who attacked Berlusconi on the stage of PalaSharp guilty of "destroying the public school? Here, you know where you study? In a private school. 
