stories yesterday
I take a walk outside I'm Surrounded By Some kids at play I can feel
Their laughter, so why do I sear?
Oh, and twisted thoughts
That spin round my head I'm spinning, oh, I'm spinning How quick
the sun can drop away Pearl Jam, Black
Places Four steps in the past.
By crossing the old bridge in the district, port of entry and a symbol of my childhood.
The attendant, a former factory.
pass over the house of my old friends, before the primary and secondary schools. Arrival
oratory where the time spent between the basketball court, soccer fields and a magic tennis cement thinks for a second and turned into a miniature Flushing Meadows.
Nothing is like it.
The basketball court is gone. The powder and the mud of the pitches have given way to an aseptic synthetic surface.
I may be sentimental but some things should never change ... at least those that you leave positive memories.
No. Those should not ever change.
People The former friends and an evening that puts you in the past.
Names, faces, people, news of daily life.
Then work, then you remember, then who knows what happened to ... And between
remember and come out the other news that you would not want to receive.
Who's gone, those who failed, those in need. And you
remains a bitter taste in the mouth because you could not do anything.
Even healthy people who came on tip-toe into your life and we came out leaving only the memory.
Who taught you something.
Who made you grow as human beings.
Nostalgia and fears inevitable thoughts run to photographs yellowed by time.
Nostalgia grips me.
The fear of losing those who count, the fear of losing the things that matter.
The stomach shrinks.
sip a beer while the gray rush-hour traffic floods Vanchiglia.
Walk along the River. And I remember during the four-lane highway. The bridge, school, fields, the oratory, nights of cake.
A little 'music, a little bit of powder to turn to for enlightenment and I fall asleep.
Tired but happy to remember.
