LIFE
I go out. Fog envelops everything, it‟s fallen noiselessly, like a blanket, on the houses, like smoke in the eyes, like a wait in the hearts. The empty streets make me think of the many lives shut up in the houses. I imagine. A family with children that are running after each other round the table, while the mother is cooking the dinner and the father is playing with them even if he‟s tired.
Another house and a boy who is closed in his bedroom, a table prepared unnecessarily for three people, a desolate mother who goes on calling, and a disillusioned father who starts eating.
An old man alone, with his dog and the television switched-on, a news that lists troubles, death and war, so he thinks that the life that that he still has to live is too much.
A girl is closed in the bathroom and her hands show the signs of her war, those scales always show that she weighs too much, her protruding bones with more weight to lose.
A couple, on the sofa, are planning their future, between tenderness and kisses, a baby to rock and maybe a life in the country, far from traffic, crime and pollution.
Another house, another story. Two frightened men, they have fallen in love suddenly, at first sight, but they are afraid of this love. They want to live like a normal couple, but for some you aren‟t allowed to love someone of your same gender and they don‟t want to risk.
Those two girls are studying together, talking about boys and dreams, ready to throw themselves into life with enthusiasm and hope.
Sometimes it‟s hard to continue, unexpected obstacles on the road slow up the trip, change your direction. The road like life. And these graffiti full of anger and love. How many lives hide behind these signs. And that swastika on a shop‟s door, like evil that reminds us that the past is a phantom that returns to haunt, to terrify.
The fog makes sounds softer, senses sharper. In the corner of the sidewalk, someone is waiting. I think I understand and I go away, sometimes there isn‟t enough fog and night to wreck the despair of a life. A stray cat comes from nothing and vanishes into nothing. Far away a dog‟s barking seems
to go with it. This night that is coming is a poem, it‟s a novel to write. I breathe deeply, I breathe the fog, the night, life. And like a shell, this fog prepares us to be butterflies. Stop playing a script that no-one has ever written, break out of the mould and improvise, surprise, twist the roles that make us feel shut in and choked. Life is in our hands, love in our hearts, dreams to fulfil in our minds, and the change that we want to obtain is in our commitment. I‟m home. I get into the lift with difficulty and I press 1. I arrive quickly, my wheelchair slides soundlessly. In the doorway a lovely smile welcomes me.
