The english translation of “Da una Lapide”.

This story begins from a tombstone on which grew a love. But never mind the usual game of the circle of life, of the life and death cycle that’s been perpetuated for eternity. It’s not what I want to talk about.

The first time I saw her, she had brown hair, long over her shoulders. She was smiling, sitting against a sphere lying on the ground. An imperfect sphere that sprung from the ground, with its myriad of facets, its bumps, with the misery of its wrong shape. The little girl laid her back on that sculpture. I was amazed by her lack of touch, by her arrogance. Who was her, to seat beside my father? Who gave her the right? Continua a leggere “From a Tombstone”