I'm understanding why we thanks God for bread given to us.


In these days, I don't have anything to say. My dissertation's calling, remembering to myself my duties, my job, my vocation... On the other hand, there is a deep sadness in this hall where everybody's leaving. Forever.

I'm thinking about the Day in which God'll collect all of us, in order to recover this environment. My mind is on next 10 years, when all together we'll do another master. I don't want to live this life backl; I want to meet all of them in 10 years. I don't have to say why. I
've this image when me and my classmate at the elementary school we'll be 50 years old and we'll restart having classes all together.

I'm a damn melancoholic.

I'd like her sweetness with me for these last nights, just to survive to this sadness, to the problems of the job, to recover from a broken finger of my foot (damn Portuguese!).

Alone, I walk around this building where there are no more students, just survivors and some invading-tourists. I don't want to think about who'll walk like me... in few months... on the same corridors... doing the same laundry... joking nationalities as I'm used to. Who'll be the next Italian? Who'll be in my room?

Such sadness... Why am I so melancholic? I enjoyed this life, enough or not enough. In the present, in any moment I was sure about what I was doing, now some regrets are emerging. However, time for new desires has to come. Now, just tired and from this point of view the perspective doesn't make me particularly happy.

I'm understanding why we thanks God for bread given to us.

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