Villa Borghese is still sleeping, while the means in a thin rain. I hear the sound calntilenante sull'ombrello red.
I just moved and I look up to gray skies. A few drops beyond my shelter and fall cold on my cheeks. The look, feel and breathe the smell in the wind that plays with my hair.
There is none. It 's a surreal image.
I've always seen on Saturday afternoon, full of people, tourists, walking dogs and kids urlanti.Un image banal and even a bit 'sad.
This morning there's only me, the trees and rain.
I see Borghese Gallery at the end of the avenue. It 's beautiful, dressed in fine droplets.
I'm late. Should I run yet imspiegabilmente slow down.
I feel that her beautiful voice that speaks to my telefono.La feel, and I think I am going away a little every day '.
The rain begins to fall more overbearing. A shiver runs down the back, but I'm not sure that I depend on the water is wetting his feet. They feel cold, as are my shoulders and my mind. I look forward
. Luckily the new office has flexible entry. The avenue is over and the gallery is elegantly in front of me.
I look around again to be unbelieving absurdly alone. I say mind talking on the phone. I'm talking about how beautiful this situation and while I think I'd want to live with her.
A moment yet, everything slows down. The wind changes the angle of fall of rain, the umbrella protects me no more, face and hair begins to moisten. I swung around to the exit. The magic ends, the call ends and I run the office with a little make-up 'air cast that gives me a bit' scruffy. Oddly
think of a sentence from one of my favorite movies. A phrase that often reminds me of someone ... "Can not rain forever."
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