"I had learned to be strong for her while turning the pages of the ABC book.
The whole crazy run of time, as neat and dithered as the shelling out of each single moment wasted in the same, few mistakes, almost made me lose my balance on my chair, as if it had been a rude gust of wind.
Two heads of different shades of past, contemplating the roof, the echo of my disconsolate admission of all my failures still crashing like a rabid sea against the malleuses in my ears and the pride in my petrified consciousness, while I couldn't help but realizing that because of my ineptitude our lives had gone awkwardly, and that now, that I should have been strong, able to walk by myself and give back all the help I had received, I rather was weaker than before.
She consoled me, like always, as if she hadn't seen me retreat or fail or impact and shatter, together with the wings of my daydreams, on the ground of their futility against the dry reality, already a million times, as if each illusion and delusion of mine hadn't already pierced her soul for most of her life... as if she could still believe in my fulfillment, no matter any past and present evidence.
It would have been the most cruel thing I could have done to her, that to let her believe, alone, in me, while, myself, taking the whole kit and caboodle and stepping back.
No matter how illusory it seemed, I had to keep trying.
Not only for myself, but for her, as well.
They say the elders become children again, somewhat, and in a sort of exchange of roles they become our children, and us, their parents.
I couldn't break the dreams of a child, don't you think?
So I kept trying.
And some time... it will have to work out, right?"
(c) Daniele Bergamini @danbergam
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