. .. it's Sunday morning ... I have breakfast on my balcony overlooking a city stunned ... even the sun seems unwilling to be bold and do not want to strike with its rays that remains standing after the night between Monday and Tuesday ...
The words are hard to find ... the reasons for a massacre even less ... The pain
breaths ... it gets up my nose ... ... I see the pain appears before the eyes if you look at other people's eyes ... the pain will penetrate through the pores of the skin if you move among the desperate people who have lost the most precious possession they had: a life of their loved ones ... and it seems that my body can not bear to do everything ... and defends itself by throwing off tears, as if trying to wash , purify .. This is not rhetoric ...
live these days here in Viareggio is really painful
