"Grandma, this isolation is destroying me."

"What can't you stand about this time, my child?"

“I had projects to carry out, works to finish, pending commitments that are waiting for me… and now I find myself still. Property. Without being able to do anything. I'm wasting time. "

“You are not wasting time. You're earning it. But you don't realize it. "

"And how can I, grandmother, realize such an absurd thing?"

"Cook. As it once was. Knead the bread and let it rise two long days and two long nights. The time has come for slow leavening. The one that makes you take care of the food you cook. Use your hands, not machines. Use good yeast, not artificial yeast. Let your dough rise for days, not just hours. And in this time of long waiting and caring, even if nothing seems to be happening, in reality an incredible change is taking place. In the dough and inside you. Learn to take care of your daily bread, you will thus learn to take care of what really feeds your soul. And everything will happen. As if by magic."

"Is this the time gained? That of care and waiting? "

"Yup. In this fast paced world we prepare the ingredients quickly and we want the bread to be ready as soon as possible. But do you know the taste and smell of slowly leavened bread? It is a different, genuine, almost sacred flavor. While you wait for your leavening bread you are in connection with your bread: you look at it, you feel it, you care for it. Here: this is the time for slow leavening. You have already prepared the ingredients, you have already kneaded. Now step aside and enjoy the wonderful spectacle of this culinary transformation. Of this transformation that is also happening inside you. "

"Without doing anything, grandmother?"

“Without doing absolutely anything. The smell of bread is already in the air. Trust your bread. And in the great possibilities that are within you. 


Mum mum do you know what? 
She suddenly exclaimed.
" Oh Honey, tell me, tell me! "
" You know, today I was in the park with my grandparents and while I was on the swing I saw Martina arrive, you know not? That little girl I like so much. She was really beautiful, she wore a floral dress and had her hair pulled back in a simple bun. As soon as I saw her I ran to her and asked her if she would like to come with me under the big chestnut tree, the one in the center of the playground. At first she blushed but then she accepted and I felt so happy. And do you know why I asked her to go there with me? "
" Let's see ... you know I don't know Darling, you tell me, I'm curious! "- Mom followed." 
I asked her because I wanted to tell her something ... well it's been a long time since I've been whirling around in my head but I've never found the courage to let him know and face to face ... I'm ashamed ahaha. I wanted to ask her if she wanted to be my sweetheart. But ... not really like children, I want her to be My girlfriend and I want to treat her as dad does with you and grandfather does with grandmother. 
I want to take her for a walk around the country hand in hand, I want to buy her a big big puppet so at night she can hold it and remember me, I want to tell her every day how beautiful she is, I want to protect her like grown-ups do, like dad does, I want to do everything like he! He is my hero! ".
" But love, but it's a fantastic idea, I'm so proud of you! But ... may I know what she replied? "
The mother asked anxiously.
" Well ... she told me she would let me know the answer tomorrow, when we would meet again at the little park. So at the moment I don't know if that's a yes or a no. Obviously I hope in the first one, I would be really happy! ".
" Honey, look, you can go sure it will be a good yes, you know we women are like that, a little ... 
how to say we always make you on your toes, but in the end always worth it. Trust mom. It will go great! But now go to brush your teeth and then go to bed that we have to resume the routine that soon starts school and then tomorrow will be a great day, hahaha. Come on, go to bed ".
" Okay mom, but tomorrow morning I wake up early that I have to make myself beautiful, I have to put on the gel, dress well, put on perfume ... "
" Honey, she will look at this: your little heart. And if he beats hard then he'll tell you yes, she certainly won't care how you are outside, but how you are inside! Up to bed! "
"What a hurry to go to bed tonight!" 
Thought the child. 
"It never happened ...". 
The lights in the house go out, you can only hear the crickets and cicadas out there in the fields and a few people for the town who are already waiting for the party next weekend. Summer atmosphere. Peace and quiet around. "Oh right, tomorrow morning I must also remember to take her a rose from the garden, a beautiful fragrant and beautiful red. I can't wait!" 
The child thought again in bed, now on the way to sleep. 3.38 marks the alarm. The house is shaking. 
"What's going on?"
He wonders. 
"I've never felt the house move so much ... oh maybe it's Superman who came to town! Ahaha, he's so powerful he makes everything move. I even drew it on the locker at school. Or maybe it will be the disonaurs. that return, Batman, the superheroes ... but dad will think about saving me whatever happens, he is my Hero! This is how the life of that splendid child ended ... with his mind immersed in the world of fantasy, competing with those who had arrived in the village. No superheroes, no dinosaurs, no superpowers ... all the power of Nature had made itself felt in the village. And he, now under the rubble, I'm sure he was smiling while waiting for his favorite hero to come and save him. He left this world smiling I am sure, dreaming yes but with constant thought about the next day. Who knows if Martina would have said yes, who knows if she would have liked the rose, who knows how many moments they still had to live together. It all ended there. That yes never came, that playground is no longer there and that child is no longer there either. But I'm sure he left us with a smile. But I'm less sure if her dad and mom did the same. Perhaps they understood that no superhero had arrived in the city, but Nature. And I think maybe there was no smile on their faces ... but only tears, tears of those who would soon leave this world. "


You once had a country. You once had a body. Once there was a warrior girl. She does this at night, when she can't sleep: she closes her eyes and ritually runs her fingertips over the geography of her face. Years of childhood and family recede and sink, replaced by valleys and mountains of scar tissue and aging. Under the right eye, where the cheekbone begins, the war years. His adolescence incinerated. At the root of the nose, the burnt skin wrinkles, almost in a spiral, and with the imagination, one feels how, in all of us, love and fury are close. We try to pretend that they are the opposite of each other, or two opposite poles, but in reality they meet in the center of the forehead. They form a bridge, a bond. She hears the narration of faith at the bridge of the nose. It would be very easy for her to finger drill her skull into the gray matter.
Near the jaw, against the edge of my mouth, I feel the people I once loved: the mother. The bear. The dog. And then what I have come to love in fatigue and endurance. Comrades and companions in arms. "Love" is a word that always has explosive definitions gathered in the corners of the mouth, a mouth that now resembles a jagged gash, hostile to any expression, open only to cry and prayer.
In the skin I bear the mark of the original wound. I live in the killer's body; I live in the body of someone who could give life. What is the meaning of giving life? That's the kind of question I'm asking myself now. A meaningless question.
Whatever life forms are left on earth, whoever writhes through their miserable existence as worms, this is a drama in which I have no part.
This is not a simple face deposit. This is also a prisoner depot. They have been conducting this bizarre dance for years: they choose the face. They charge. They wait.


Once upon a time there was a little girl who loved butterflies very much. She wore brightly colored clothes and, when she spoke, she moved her small arms with such lightness that they looked like vibrant wings in flight. His gait also brought with it that lightness that only butterflies naturally possess. And like butterflies he loved flowers and took great care of them.
With his mother in spring he planted bulbs and seeds and waited patiently. His little brother, still small, watched amused.
He had become her little messy little helper! At the first warmth, a leaf appears, a slender cuff, the first flower, then many others, all beautiful in their shapes and shades of their colors. Soon many beautiful butterflies would also arrive!
And the little girl was delighted and remained enchanted for hours watching that spectacle of lightness, colors and perfumes. Sometimes it happened that a butterfly would rest on her hand and the little girl was almost breathless with emotion. It remained motionless to enjoy the beauty of those colored wings and the tickle of those curious paws.
One day his little brother got a bad flu and had to stay in bed for several days. The little girl was very sorry to see her little brother suffering and sad. Then he thought of a surprise that could brighten his days. It immediately occurred to her to prepare a short story about flowers and butterflies. While his little brother was dozing, he wrote a very sweet story and prepared a merry-go-round made with wood twigs tied together, to which he hung colorful butterflies made with tufts of his mother's carded wool. When the little brother opened his eyes after his afternoon nap, the baby was there, ready, next to him. She smiled at him and started reading his story. The little brother listened raptly, in silence, with sparkling eyes.
Eventually the little girl took the mobile and showed it to her little brother. Quick as a flash he took it with his little hands and began to play with it, moving the sticks to make all those beautiful butterflies flutter.
Soon the little brother was back to health and that mobile became the best


Imagine for a moment a sunflower, a yellow so beautiful that you would look at it for hours; imagine it in a greenhouse, with artificial light, non-passing air and strategically placed sprinklers. The sunflower still there, always remains true and clean and absorbs nothing but hot condensed air between the glass of the greenhouse; he lives in something unnatural, in order to be cut off when he grows perfectly, almost to seem fake. Everything that goes around it is artificial and makes it grow in an environment that is too protected and built up. But will he ever know what freedom is? The beauty of the sunlight beating on the petals and the passion that drives him to turn towards him following him everywhere; the pain of the hail that tries to bring it down. The flower, that of the field, grows stronger and more resistant; maybe not so beautiful because it was forged by time and bad weather, but what about the greenhouse? Oh no, he will be beautiful, he will be an enviable flower, fake but weak and that can easily be razed to the ground and not because someone decides to pick it. No one would pick a sunflower with a few missing petals and a slightly darkened stem. And our world is exactly like that, it's a world of fields and greenhouses and each one grows in one of two places. It is up to us to move and explore, we who can come out of the shell and take our freedom, breathe the air and really savor everything that knows true, of life because those flowers, all flowers will never have the opportunity to do so. , but think about it if they had a choice? I'm sure that if they could they would run away, far away, where they could grow as they were originally created. Free to color the world.


And he sees that that light comes from a doll, all broken, with the heart made of a light bulb .. and the puppet thinks, she will be my wife .. but when the doll approaches, her heart of wax melts.
How am I going to love you now that I no longer have a heart, the doll holds the heart in her arms .. and detaches the light bulb from her chest and says "if you love me one heart will be enough for both of us".


A little bird was about to freeze to death in the snow. It was freezing cold. He was almost done for. On his way a cow. He sees him, approaches, turns and poops on him. How disgusting you will say. the little bird.
Moral of the story: Not all the shit thrown at you is bad Sometimes it helps to save your life or ... To open your eyes!


She hopped down the path, turning around and lifting her long skirt.
"Father, why are we going to the mine?" he asked, looking up at his parent.
"King Alras has requested our presence on a secret project." the man answered, leaning on the walking stick with his metal hand. "What do you think it will be, Pareia?"
The little girl adjusted her skirt and observed that it fell well especially where the bodice left her free. She stroked her long, dark curly hair and shook her head.
"You know it, father." she replied with a smile.
The man went up to her and ran his hand through her perfumed hair, bending over to give her a kiss. He remembered well the gnome in a jacket who had knocked on his door and had brought the message, waiting for a short reply before returning to the shadows, as well as the urgency of the text. He also remembered when, many years ago, King Alras himself had given him that mechanical arm he was now wearing to replace the one he had lost in the collapse of the mine.
"No, Pareia." he resumed walking along the path. "Since we said goodbye ten years ago, I haven't heard anything about them."
The walk continued in silence, while the trees shaded the slightly uphill path. He paused to look at the marks on the trunks that indicated distance in the gnomic language.
"A little girl was running in the woods ..." Pareia began to hum, crossing her hands behind her head. “He fell into the cliff and broke his leg. "Oh, what a pain, what a pain" ..
He gestured for her to show her the direction and set off.
It didn't take long for the trees to give way to bare rock and stone doors as tall as a human. Numerous figures had been intertwined in the doors which merged into each other and hid numerous small cracks.
"Mr. Veltis!" called a voice from the other side.
Quietly, more quietly than Pareia had ever thought, the doors opened and allowed her to see a long, wide gallery decorated with oil lamps and gigantic statues of gnomes.
Ahead of them was a gnome with short red hair hidden partly under the charcoal tuba and strutting in the suit of the same color.
"We have been waiting for you."
"My sincere apologies for the delay." his father answered politely, while Pareia stood silently behind him and kept his head down.
"No, don't worry." retorted the gnome. "Follow me."
The group went into the gallery.
"His Majesty is waiting for us at the station at the end of this tunnel to present the project to you himself." he continued, with the pride that transpired from his voice. "Our most skilled scientists and craftsmen have been at work for years and the prototype has been in use for several months. From now on we will no longer be dependent on the use of magic for even the simplest things. "
Mr. Veltis smiled slightly. The magic… for him, too, his arm was magic, pure and simple magic from the hands of the gnomic artisans that he would never know how to replicate.
Pareia looked at the gnome statues. The features were rougher than those of the people he normally met, but even in the stone the clothes sparkled with gems and even the details of the fabrics were carried over with absolute precision. He saw the last pair of oil lamps pass by them and in a moment they found themselves in absolute darkness.
Silence filled every corner of the shadows and they stood still.
Only the beating of their hearts thundered in their ears.
The beating of many hearts.
A flame seemed to shine in the distance and suddenly the light blinded them. They closed their eyes. The light grew stronger. The thunder of the drums. A fanfare. Roar of many voices.
Pareia lowered the arm she had instinctively placed in front of her face and narrowed her eyes. The cave was brightly lit and in front of them were two carriages, the first of which was very strange. He looked at it carefully, seeing that it had some sort of chimney from which steam came out, and the carriages were set on rails.
"Mr. Veltis." a gnome much more robust than the others, with clothes rich in gold threads and well finished, stood next to his father. "I am delighted that you have accepted our offer." he turned to the carriages. "This is the project we wanted to tell you about."


Once upon a time there was a small oyster, it was small and black, the darkest in the ocean.
Everyone made fun of her: "You'll never be as beautiful as us"
The poor shell tortured itself and tried to find a way to resemble the others as much as possible, he couldn't bear the insults anymore.
So one day decided to roll away from his strip of sand, he rolled away until he reached another sea where he rested.
Its shell was now all ruined, the poor oyster had pushed beyond its capacity… it would never be as it once was. Other shells saw it, their reaction was the same, if not worse than that of the first ones: the oyster, however, was adamant, it would never change, but inside it was crying more and more. Until one day she felt an intense pain, so strong that she was forced to open. He did it slowly… without fear. When it was completely opened a pearl came out. The largest and most beautiful pearl that had ever been seen.
"Are you going to go now too?" He asked her for the oyster.
"And why on earth?" answered the pearl.
"Can't you see them? Look how ruined and discolored I am."
"I think you are beautiful ..."
The moved oyster asked her: "and why on earth?"
The pearl did not speak immediately, thought about it for a moment, then said: "Your every scratch, every stain and discoloration of yours is part of your story. Even when you are moving through the seas I was growing inside you. You carried me and the your body has modeled itself according to your needs, which is why you are beautiful.
The oyster, without saying a word smiled, his pearl was special He knew how to see beyond superficiality, beyond what everyone saw.
On the other hand, the pearl saw a different shell, not in a negative sense, she liked different.
And for this he already knew he loved her, even though the eyes of others saw her wrongly. Even the oyster loved her pearl, she was the only one who made her feel special.
Furthermore, it was not a white pearl like many others but a very rare black pearl, the most precious of all.


-Do you love me? - Alice asked.

-No, I don't love you .- replied the White Rabbit.

Alice frowned and started rubbing her hands nervously, as she always did when she felt hurt.

-Here, you see? - said the White Rabbit- Now you may be wondering what your fault is, why I can't love you at least a little, what makes you so imperfect, fragmented. Precisely for this reason I cannot love you. Because there will be days when I will be tired, angry, with my head in the clouds and I will hurt you. Every day it happens to trample feelings out of boredom, carelessness, incomprehension. But if you don't love yourself at least a little, if you don't create an armor of pure joy around your heart, my weak darts will become lethal and destroy you.
The first time I met you I made a pact with myself: I would stop myself from loving you until you first learned to feel precious to yourself. So Alice no, I don't love you. I can not do that.

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