Sometimes you have the impression that the soul is fractured by a deep abyss − somebody knows, or thinks he knows, who has stolen the ground, the flesh, the love (the time?) that is missing, many do not have the least idea. An abyss so deep that we do not even ask the others to try and fill it, but just to coat it somehow, to conceal its mouth.
Sì, il dubbio, la scelta, il gesto, è nostro, individuale, sia che ci guidi l’istinto l’emozione o la ragione.