Libero. Free.


Once I knew a Man who used to talk to me about life and death through philosophy and religion. His best way of expression were his hand, and the lines that he was able to trace into hearts by the means of a perfect

, majestic architectural project. I am not sure that that Man is still living; like a superhero and his antagonist, that Man was always suffering, also because of his fortunes. He has never been

satisfied with himself, and perhaps also with the people he had around.

What I know is that he found and lost the power to speak in this world, and I’m sure he wouldn’t like to have that power anymore. He is dead, but
I’m not sure he will born again as a better person.

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