Cimitero

Ok.

June 23, 2019 Somewhere else When a loved one goes away, the void hurts madly, a pain like a flame that burns so much that all possible tears can't turn it off. There are no comforting words, neither Christian nor atheist. And it is a pain that you carry inside, that burns you without ever being consumed. Life is governed by a judge whose law does not seem to be the same for everyone: there are criminals, dishonest, thieves and murderers who seem immortal, then we are the ones who live today as if it were the last day. We are comforted to think of our children who know how to bend bitterness into a smile: when I look at them I believe that they are the illusion that death does not exist or that, if it exists, at that moment it is looking elsewhere. Dedicated to those like you, dad You tasted the little things You who enjoyed the setting sun even when it rains You who heard the sound of growing trees You saw a smile when your face is still streaked with tears You who made yourself lead by the hand of a child You who knew how to see a flower in the middle of a road You who were not afraid to entrust your words to the wind You who knew how to fly to the stars while remaining with your feet on the ground You who knew how to renounce the ego to give space to you You who stroked the edges with your hands to make them round You that your palette to paint was simply the rainbow You who did not trust others when they did great things but you trusted the friend who did little things that no one else saw You who knew you were you despite all the other pronouns You who drank only transparent water because the like, you said, are with the like