The year 1973 was ran when I was struck by Lucrezia, a splendid tall, long -long girl, a red maple curly forest and two emerald green eyes scattered in a flood of efelids. He was the most beautiful and he knew he was and therefore he was unreachable (and he was taking a long time). When he passed through the corridor of the classical high school hen the crowd of students with his jamming like a knife in the butter … then I knew my wife, we got engaged, we got married and we had three splendid children (and I don’t wake up as a start in the night). .. Last year I saw Lucrezia for work reasons. I recognized it only thanks to my memory for the names. It was unrecognizable: weighed down in the body, the red of the maple leaves had given way to the hasty color of the autumn dry leaves. He was no longer able to chop the crowd. We talked a little “amarcord”. He had lost his allure! It was another! And chatting a bit he told me that he now found himself almost seventy -year -old with a punch of flies in his hand and looked sadly! “Maybe I was too selective,” he concluded bitterly. So even the brave Ettore could try to contact his Luisa to understand that perhaps it is no longer the case to “wake up with a start with the blue of her eyes that spreads in her mind” … hoping not to cross a new Achille.
Pose
Dear Post, agree with her. It is always very dangerous to meet an old love, especially if idealized. For the “flames” of the past, the principle that applies to fans is worth: never get too close to the subject of one’s “cult” because one can only remain dramatically disappointed. The fans and lovers of the years went must be kept at the right distance. And it is the reason why, on the contrary, I had suggested to Ettore (who at a distance of decades still loses the nights behind the thought of “his” Luisa) to try to review his youth myth: to get rid of it forever. And with the wonderful story of the army Lucrezia she offers us the plastic demonstration of what I mean.
Of course it is sad and even sadder is the fact that we could be someone’s Lucrezia and even on us they could glimpse the merciless scratches of the time, but it is rather inevitable. All this is in choosing whether to crogue in nostalgia or whether to be brutally wake up by reality. That everyone opts for what is most useful to move forward.