Friday, 27 November 2015

Lettere d'amore

Parlando, e scheranzdo coi colleghi a pranzo delle donne, di quanto mi manchi una ragione per tutto quanto, mi e' tornata in mente Diane.

E' a lei che ho scritto una delle mie ultime lettere d'amore, e se non era amore era qualcosa di simile.

Sono passati quasi 5 anni da allora ... e' un'eternita'?
Sono un'altra persona?

Dear Diane,

Most probably you will never receive this e-mail.
Most probably I'm sending this to some expired addresses.

I was a few days ago in one of the big conference halls at the ###, the occasion being the opening session of a conference.

While I was there, and I was having a look at the room, at all the people, some paying attention to the speaker, some writing some notes some others simply waiting for the coffee break, it came to my mind that once, at that time we both worked at the ###, you were there, in one of the last rows of the left sector.

And it came to my mind that you were simply gracious, and that I couldn't but look at you from time to time.

I hardly knew you by then, but still that was sufficient: I could perceive something really unique in 'you'.

Don't spend time in remembering who I am, it's unnecessary and useless: this message is not about me, it's entirely about you.

Have a nice day,


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