One who believes in the rebirth of his city is not a fool. Can not. It is not a mere dreamer lost in idioms consumed, or a dreamer or a time waster ... it is those who want to believe that everything in life can be possible and for any pain, even the most heinous, lights are ready to make a ransom.
And I think you, beloved city. To you of your nell'inflettersi architectures have never ceased to guard my dreams, those of best days, when they touch you in plaster and was afraid to lose the uniqueness and elegance for centuries draw the attacks on the sky of your eaves.
I cry to you now the collapse of stones, explosion of glass, the violence of the portals wide open and the sour taste that goes back antihi the wells of the secular courts.
you think. Tonight. With the same intensity of that night that separated us, that put me safe leaving weeping alone in the stone jump to the mighty walls that inflicted the avarice of a land that showed no signs of stopping.
you think. Tonight. As once I lost the whiteness amber rays reflected in the western embroidered fronts grandiloquent fourteenth century, or how I felt in my heart the reflection of the vital touch to the evening of your day.
you think. Tonight. With that desire to walk again, to embrace the moments lost in the enchantment of light, the corners of history that I have called to be who I am.
Tomorrow, God willing, I'll be with you.
on that square of memories long gone I confess my own history.
I'm not a fool, or a mere dreamer lost in idioms consumed, or a dreamer or a time waster ... are those who want to believe that everything in life can be possible and for any pain, even the most heinous, is lights are ready to make a ransom.
I am who I am.
And thanks to your courage, your expectations, your will not stop the beating of the great challenge that awaits us.
Can you rewrite history. Here. Now. Together.
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