was from her husband was dead when he had discovered nothing. As if the smell di un uomo intorno a sé avesse negli anni coperto, sino a divorarla, la sua essenza. Si era aggrappata al dolore della perdita per darsi dei confini con cui avrebbe sperato finire i suoi giorni, senza troppo pensarci. Tutti gli anni passati a vivere il silenzio indecifrabile di un uomo, avevano assunto in lei una filosofia piena di significato. Tutto il non detto che nel tempo era divenuto la propria infelicità era adesso un aver detto troppo, tanto, tutto. E il pensiero la soddisfaceva. Come se fosse l’unica detentrice di un non comunicabile da comunicare attraverso ammiccamenti segreti a chi ancora sapeva guardarla. Improvvisamente, però, la solitudine colorò di vecchiaia la sua età. Di botto e repentinamente si ritrovò ferma e senza no future. As if she was given a small station just stop. Often thought that the only thing he could still taste the sacred that was lurking in the countryside, trees and plants, children. This was an unconscious and natural way. As if the instinct to take her alive, against all reasonable understanding, to appreciate the vice of harassing and bullying the world to continue to live despite the futility of their historic seasons. But going in this afternoon walk through moments of the sunset, there was something I was screaming with rage. An unusual and rationally inexplicable rage that, as the water can reach the sea flowing while encountering resistance and obstacles, so it arrived at its destination almost in surprise. He hit the witnesses and neighbors around his story, hurt "those" who had followed the story in spite of themselves, and that, by their presence, could call into question the current direction. Witness unaware of a threat to underground and together with a sense of guilt. They had reserved a life of jealousy, which was the only trace is a possibility of love. Still rebellious emotion, still ill-directed to a bereavement.
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