Dear Sinister I am back in my home country at present. This like to call this county the lakes land, and is a place somewhere around northern Italy. It is so much in the north that it is almost Switzerland. Actually It is just a few tens of mile by car. If you are a driver good and brave enough to dare to go up there, and there are no traffic jams, them it can be indeed a lovely drive by the lake, and it has been one of the finest moment I can remember in my life when I dared to drive in my old nth hand care that I have bought from my younger brother the one who made me shine. At that time, being in this place was as it has never been, or as I have never remember it has been. I felt comfortable with my whole existence, and whit the place I grew up, which I always dreamt of fled away towards unknown destination. My secret plan as a teen age was to go to the dock and board towards a unknown destination, whatever but far away from this place, that life, that everyday boredom. Still I´ve nev! er had the courage of pack up my few things, get on train, then on a boat, and finally somewhere in the middle on the sea where the sun burn your skin and the salt your lips, but you might eventually feel alive. You can think you have tried. To live. Properly. It looks like there is a spell, and all the time I´m coming here something unexpected, and not always the funniest one, is going to happen. At Christmas time, I took a few steps, still in the airport, and I felt like I was breathing, completely, fully, and without conditions. It was a new beginning. I was sure I´ve turn the page, and for how much I have been unhappy and unsatisfied with all my life had been since a few months before, everything had change. I simply alive. I felt like a human being, like all my life hasn´t just being a waste of time. A traceless running of seconds. A cheap and useless thing. I felt like it has been worth waiting all the time I had to be lighted up. And I firmly though all the past was over, the lonely time was passed and nothing but th ´s eyes, in which I mirror in the morning, was what I would have had, and a stolen smile in the fragile sleep. A memory trough the day until it would have been time to pick one more the morning to come. Yes, I felt loved. And how does it feel to be loved? It feels like it is the only thing that has ever meant anything to me at all. And it is not that great to look out of the window in the morning wondering if, one day, the thing will change again, with that kind of feeling that you know you are telling lies to yourself, because there are people, for the way the things go that are going to be on their own. I always though anyone have in his life what its deserved, because it is what we do, all the choices and the decision we make, the thing we have or haven´t dared to do or say that writes our story. We are writing it in our own fashion, even if we don´t like it the way it is written. Not all of us are good writer, even if, I think anyone try his best, still it is not said it! is going to be enough. Even if I have always though this, strongly and resolutely, for a while I tried to hide to hide to myself how the truth was, how there was no one but me to blame, how I have been silly and proud and have done my best to destroy any possibility of getting out of the state I was in. And that was just because I was scared of being happy. And I needed my little world to collapse over me to realise it. Silly, isn´t it? But now I am not scared anymore to be happy. I might sound stupid, or rhetoric, or childish, or whatever you want, but that is it. I am not scared anymore of being happy. And I think that there is something special which is able to turn each of us on. It can be creating a new rose variety, playing cricket or climbing the Everest, or more simply spying someone´s dream when you wake up. Last Saturday my grandma passed over. She was quite old, and it was relatively past. She didn´t suffer much, and I like to think the last time she saw me, I looked different and smiley, like I´ve never look since I was a child s. Of course I have no memories of that, but I definitely won´t define myself a social adult. I don´t know when and how the things changed. At a certain point they changed, or I let, or made them change, but that is not worth. I´m sure my grandma knew how it does feel to be loved, because one can see in all the old fashioned photograph in black and white the way my granddad looked at here, and I have seen how, in the late days, he cared and looked forward her, day by day, hour by hour. Thinking at that it makes my heart melt and tear run, but they will dry soon. Saturday was an unbelievably warm, almost hard to stay inside the house, and as the evening came, my childhood definitely finished. It has been like all the memories of that time have start to irreversibly fade out when my grandma, her name was Bianca, left. A widely expected, predictable, but still harsh turning point of a lifetime. It is at turning point a that one start to make a balance of the things he have done! , he would have like to do and will love to do in his life, I think. At least I do. The only feeling I had is that my life is running away with me without living anything worth being remembered. a lonely human being leaving faint footprints, a decoloured image on the background of a photograph, and which is still wondering if one day can be a little more close to the subject of that and if the snapshot can be developed. Will he move that couple of steps ahead or not? Well if it is all the result of what I have done, I must listen to the deep of my conscience and take all the consequences it involves. I don´t know what it does entirely mean, to be honest. All I know is that the things can´t go on as they are at present, either one way, or another, they have to change. I think I´m built with a fight temper. I know everyone suffer and fight on a daily basis. But I feel like this every day defeats are just weakening at the point that I won´t have any strength to fight back, and a candle which is light is dim and feeble, will till all the wax the pain is over. I wish you all happiness (And if it comes, grab it with both full hands) yours stefano ~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~# in the time of the winter the waiter fell into the snow he could hear a voice but will he ever find his way if I'm so far from your heart why do I feel it beat and time won't wait for us ~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. 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