"I do not remember my mother.
Only .. suddenly, for no reason,
feel in the game, as if someone spoke to me
ear ... No doubt it is my mother me "
R. Tagore
November, the first scent of roasted chestnuts ... need to walk under heavy rain, step on the leaves and do not stop, do not stop and leave no room for these sad thoughts that crowd my mind, it do not stop to feel the pain vacuum I you left ...
Way, and everywhere I go I look for your shadow, I seek your silver hair, try your perfume ... and my footsteps lead me there, where once even your footsteps have traveled that road, where once I shook his hand and take me with you to follow the Novena of Grace ...
Your steps and my feet ... how many road pieces together the facts ...
miss you so much, but especially this month that ties me to you more than any other time ... and I would like to have you, hold you tight and fall asleep in your warm embrace
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