I felt pain, a sharp pain in going from Br home, taking the last things while you looked at me in disbelief. Yesterday, dragging my suitcase through the neighborhood Freedom in tears, with a lump in my throat, back behind the words of gratitude and affection that I never said. I try now. In my suitcase for the last time that rolled on the pavement via Putignani, there were: my flat white squares, plastic trays, the carpet color, the green sponge for the shower, the cruet, the filter for the tea, the pot to heat the water, my tea towels, small TV antenna with orange annoyed (forgive me for it ever broken?), the wonderful conversations about film and literature by Stephen and his exemplary manners, good morning screamed Dj Vale and his magical pan, the ringing of the phone to Don Joseph and his "Rocky "purple sweatshirt, the console of the lawyer and his speech is charming lawyer. If I were to ask what is the nostalgia, now say it is the moment when I realized that I no longer see these things; If you ask me what is the affection, I would think in those around me with these things, if they asked me what happiness is, think on these things. Thanks for everything, guys, when I arrived in Bari had not anyone in these two years you were my family. Never change.
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