The tepid spring wind

                                                                                  
 

 
By F Guzzardi

New York State, somewhere in the north - It seems that time has stopped provoke , snowing , the roads are back clean and the wind blows away the dead leaves, revealing the green gardens and trees and singing birds .The nights are warm , I can not get to sleep and thinking about what will be ' this strange feeling of not belonging - I mean, what makes us different by the mere fact of living on the opposite side of the world, the place where we were born. We learned to speak English , Spanish , French, and we would like to understand Chinese or at least snatch the most ' rudimentary foundation , because it' s this that intrigues me .That's if I was not so ' engaged in the act of survival, I would like to learn Chinese, but also the Russian Turkish or an  other language at random. I realize that the signs of physical decline, they arrived and I worry about the abdication of thought; why I train to chase the memories and make sure that do not delete at least the most  important .My mother as children, sometimes took us to the sea, I watched her swim lightly on the waves and wondered how it could stay afloat in the water and twirl her that it was not just light, because the mothers of the past , they had time to heal, they always had too many children and few happy memories to smile. My father was absent , I always thought that all fathers were absent and I was also absent , so as not to remember to say certain phrases , certain gaunt and abused phrases that make you feel better and I would have to say , repeating monotonous and incessant because these are the essence of life , and instead I was still listening to the sea and the wind on the body burned by the sun.There were some days , some friends , some things that were the background , the soundtrack - you were beautiful , delicate , tender as any and far away, because I replaced you with the solitude , because I thought I was enough for me and instead I am lost in vain, in the inconsistent, in the infinite mirage . To find out just a few days of snow to cool off the heart.Here's what you can see from this part of the world , here's what I see and I hear a strange effect in the distance the echo of the dreams that are gone and those disclosed , understand that everything is' locked in memories as in a casket that a glimpse of the most 'beautiful or just the most' valuable things in life.

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