savior in front of me has been spilled on the table, the pieces of Lego that I got, and we are building a house. a house with three doors and four windows, all stuck. a house with no walls and the door is in football and a pool. I almost envy him because I do not live in his fantasy world where the houses have three doors, but are attacked relentlessly invaded by rationality. Meanwhile, the fire burning in the fireplace and I continue to nibble the nougat center that are in the table, and then the struffoli, and then a dried fig and dried apricot and maybe a piece of melon and why not, a bit of Parmesan cheese. bang bang but I do not know that I seize, I can not stop. between lego and various foods and 'past also the birth then I stop here front of the fireplace and I understand that I always feel a bit out of place. the strange play of identities, the play of space, you do not recognize most, especially at Christmas, when the memories come in without knocking and found only pieces of you. but I fly over, I keep the scattered pieces and memories, I drink coffee and eat struffoli in a house that I have never heard this and that to me and 'the house of my parents and because' they have decided to stay here - with little awareness - after leaving it for me and my brothers house was real. now a thousand homes and hundreds of places to look up to when I have a house without walls and doors and windows as the only savior of this where all my parts will come and go without difficulty.
