And do not even know why I'm here because I came in here. I passed. And now I stand here before you. Indeed, before a statue that pretends to defer to you. If you're there. That this is now a doubt. Before I was sure. I mean that the sky was empty. Deception. Like a cosmic candid camera, make us believe that it is inhabited but no it is not. Empty not because someone has abandoned it, but because no one has ever been there. But today I fell in the heart of this worm, this clucking voice and tune, so I would suffocate. And upheld, and torments, and causes. Assuring me that yes, I have absolutely right, the sky is barred, as a gate hot, not so much empty as inaccessible. Boundless and armored. And then, just for the sake of contradicting it, took me a stinging shadow, a desire that has led me annoyed here, in front of this wooden sculpture essential and I have to say very simple, naive and ugly, and now m ' he bent his knees and bowed his head, like a firm hand and maternal inviting me to turn off the world.
So quiet and composed, I let him vent my fear that rises up from the heart and radiates paralyzed every muscle. Yes Lord, I'm afraid. Not you. You do not know, but what I feel is an infinite patience, as my mother when I came home, late, dirty and maybe how the knee injury. And instead of screaming, I took her up and rocked me. Behold, this I need to be wrapped by an affection that I have not heard from since. No, I know that the family ... And I can not complain. And I love her, my wife and she loves me even more and that the children ... I know. But it's different. It is the love that you can give me what I need now. Because inside his affection is not hope, or even certainty. I need this now. I'm afraid I do not know what to do, how to find the light in this gloom down slightly, almost cheerful, but voracious. When I look into the future, the view is shortsighted, it all blurs the horizon and then close the night. And the vise tightens the heart. I try to fight, but the poison is coming to the brain because the temptation is always to let me go bigger. Dream to rest in the warm water of that warmth as soft as a foam, floating and contemplating the sun above me, and lie there, even without moving the eyes up to the current rock me and take me over the line that the greenhouse future. And I melt into the sea so, gently and without pain. I know it's a desert, I know it's selfish, but if you do not help me in some way, Lord, if you're there, I do. I go out and do it.
Why this terror is spreading, like a crafty enemy occupying all the space in my day, the hope of drowning in the details. I can not do what I want, I can not get up an hour I'd like, I can not read what I wish, the weather mocks me, with the illusion of owning assets that actually disperse and then roared when I see account that the debt grows out of proportion here and reach figures which I can never fill.
Because if one side goes the hope, the other grows failure. If I look forward to heaven is off, if I look back I see the fire that follows me. What did I do? What can I claim? The children? What have I been able to give them? Money? No, they are of that generation that burns to its predecessor has accumulated, leaving the desert in what follows. Force? No, but fragile. I watch them and I fear that the first strong wind will not shake them but holding it out like a tornado will uproot a small tree. And in their eyes I see my faults, not their free choice, but my chains. But this does not extinguish the guilt of my disappointment that while I feel for them on the spot, on the other hand I feel a displaced anger against them, to the disappointment that I have never spared. A disappointment that has its roots in me in them and then my daughter is more of themselves. And for this irritates me, because I mock my disability in their painting.
adolescence will remain broken image in mind, scattered: the friend of the girl who gives filavi the elbow as you move, they rest on the heater in the school, you head down and hand knotted. And they both blush, not knowing how to hide and yet feeling a sense of pride and happiness. The stairs and balustrade in high school to see where you get stuck, you're never able to talk to her, even to stop it, and once you've written and you think it will still be laughing at you. The bar where bottles were playing with your father at sea, where then you would have expected a call from her later years, when the maximum mobility was the car in the alley, or the complicity of a friend who let you use your phone. And if you sometimes dream of returning to those spots, those in the above table into a corner with drinks, as sung by Ruggeri, if only because the future will look dumb, not mocked, only deceiving themselves, not that I want to return there, why not barter that washed safely with happiness, soft yet solid, feel that flicker in the background, like distant music, like the soft light of a lighthouse on a stormy night.
And then I come back to you, I hope you are there, now I feel that this heat is still roaring mockery of fate, but the news of a safe harbor, that somehow will not know where, do not I know how, but it will come. And I can rest quietly. No more fear.
That fear is melting while they are here heavy on his knees, and out of the day fades no longer in the dark night, but the evening calm, warm, reassured.
I'm coming home. 
