Stories and News No. 715
Today is a particular day in the so called eternal city.
The Registry of Civil Status of the City of Rome has recorded the birth of a child of 4 years.
The couple is made of two mothers, from Argentine and Italy.
There will be as usual heated discussions, with fierce criticism and felt congratulations.
These are the words, the following words.
They begin their dance after a few seconds.
Imagine then scrolling to see them on an imaginary screen at double speed.
Triple and even more.
With the volume turned down, hopefully.
So let's stop there, listening the only sound that is genuinely meaningful to speak.
Dear moms,
How many things.
How many things I would have to say to you.
Not as many as they were written.
Exclaimed, and often loudly shouted.
These are the following words.
They are important, I know.
You and all those like me could never ignore them.
Because we are the ones that since the curtain closes bring those words on the shoulders.
In the belly and heart.
It is a burden we have to accept, it is part of the game, no complaints.
We are happy, the rest of us.
Every time we look back, and along with the followed words observe the infinity of creatures condemned not only by simple sets of letters, we cannot avoid to get up every morning with a smile.
How many things I never said.
Not as many as the ones you should never had to hear.
Murmured or even screamed without shame.
Strictly behind you.
These are the words that follow us.
They have always been there, behind us, and who better knows than us.
You and us could never escape.
Because we are those who have dedicated time and life to break them to pieces.
To shatter them with love and hope that one day the right words will come.
Even just one.
That is how we are, the rest of us.
One word and everything can become wonderful.
At worst, simple.
Beloved mothers, how many words I could tell you.
And how many words, the people around you, could listen.
If only they had paid attention to the only answer that is worth the trip.
Father, mother, sister and brother, friends, are you there?
Here we are, my dear. We are here for you and we will always be.
That is how the following words work.
They are like stories.
They should be read to the end.
Like mine.
Thanks, moms.
Read other stories about diversity.
Also on Stories and News:
Today is a particular day in the so called eternal city.
The Registry of Civil Status of the City of Rome has recorded the birth of a child of 4 years.
The couple is made of two mothers, from Argentine and Italy.
There will be as usual heated discussions, with fierce criticism and felt congratulations.
These are the words, the following words.
They begin their dance after a few seconds.
Imagine then scrolling to see them on an imaginary screen at double speed.
Triple and even more.
With the volume turned down, hopefully.
So let's stop there, listening the only sound that is genuinely meaningful to speak.
Dear moms,
How many things I would have to say to you.
Not as many as they were written.
Exclaimed, and often loudly shouted.
These are the following words.
They are important, I know.
You and all those like me could never ignore them.
Because we are the ones that since the curtain closes bring those words on the shoulders.
In the belly and heart.
It is a burden we have to accept, it is part of the game, no complaints.
We are happy, the rest of us.
Every time we look back, and along with the followed words observe the infinity of creatures condemned not only by simple sets of letters, we cannot avoid to get up every morning with a smile.
How many things I never said.
Not as many as the ones you should never had to hear.
Murmured or even screamed without shame.
Strictly behind you.
These are the words that follow us.
They have always been there, behind us, and who better knows than us.
You and us could never escape.
Because we are those who have dedicated time and life to break them to pieces.
To shatter them with love and hope that one day the right words will come.
Even just one.
That is how we are, the rest of us.
One word and everything can become wonderful.
At worst, simple.
Beloved mothers, how many words I could tell you.
And how many words, the people around you, could listen.
If only they had paid attention to the only answer that is worth the trip.
Father, mother, sister and brother, friends, are you there?
Here we are, my dear. We are here for you and we will always be.
That is how the following words work.
They are like stories.
They should be read to the end.
Like mine.
Thanks, moms.
Read other stories about diversity.
Also on Stories and News: