And here I am.
I find myself at the kitchen window to contemplate an unexpected ray of sunshine after three days of rain.
Mine are on the road, Eugenio is at work.
In this apartment just outside the door with four people seemed very small and now (while still very small) it feels so empty.
I find myself thinking that for a man of fifty-three years is impossible to redo the suitcase and go to work from home a hundred miles to the south because there is nothing. What
fifty years should begin to enjoy the fruits of twenty or thirty years of work.
What is the order of the world, that's how things should go.
I find myself thinking about e-mail from my colleague with whom I worked only a few months thanks me for being a special person.
Because they are so special as you say it is only thanks to my parents.
They gave me the opportunity to be the person I am, accepted and supported all my choice, even if dad wanted me to become a lawyer, rather, a notary public.
And yet now, after the crisis in my professional / existential, they tell me I can do what I want, they will support me in everything I want to choose.
I find myself thinking about all the love that is in the gesture "I must leave something for money?" Every time you leave.
Sometimes life is unfair.
All children deserve a family like mine, two parents who, after thirty years of marriage are given even a goodnight kiss, that twenty-eight years with a daughter say: "Do not be afraid to make a loan, we can help."
It 'nice to sleep at night knowing that you always have them.
Always.
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