You know the scream of the sea when you leave? I do. When I lower the window of a moving train to Turin to enjoy the last noises of the waves, the last gusts of salt, the last warm rays of sun, sea me screams, begs me to stay, to take flight, leaving everything it does not matter, but to stay.
E Bergeggi from the balcony on the beach, while you called me "Come on love, wait, the sea is calling me, talking to me, tells me he needs me.
If only I could go beyond that horizon line, and be free to reconstruct those memories, blurred and confused by time.
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