It was not easy to re-open this blog and read all at once the devastation of the saddest period of my life. The articles in transition between the old and new is the sadness of knowing that nothing would be as before. Now there's the father I loved so much and still hard to believe that absent forever. There is more to add, every word is a lump in my throat I will stop, is the evocation of long nights crying in a plane distant African night thinking about the magic of life, as Graziana, with his hands an old photo of him smiling on a quiet Sunday in May to the south sea.
A nullla are served months in Rome, to the confusion between the sounds tour the weight of what was still fresh, and only travel with her, the woman of my life, this inside me like myself, I reported a melancholy smile. And Africa, resuming where I left everything, enjoying every moment the intolerable contrast between my time in detention that day and the reality of the past nine months. From here, from this cursed place where humans became bipedal, including eagles and pythons, cobras sguittanti the high grass of the bush and birds as blue as the sky, hence, Africa of damp earth and beautiful women, landscapes primitive and beautiful full moons, even among strangers brothers, begins what will be.
Dad is here with me, I feel close, and looks at me maybe smug perhaps disappointed, who knows, maybe I am asked to return home soon.
Holy
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