Stories and News No. 1220 My name is Joseph, I’m from Guinea, I’m only coming but I don’t arrive, it will never happen, and this too was written. But not by me, never from me. I died , yet I am here, at six months. Six months from the shore that I left and from the one I only imagined. My last breath, the only consolation, left me while I rested in the arms of someone who has sought and found me, in spite of those who have in vain forgotten and erased me. Between Open Arms everything has gone, figuratively in the English meaning, and much more in the only interpretation that really matters, when the lights go out and you are alone inside you: humanly, an adverb now obsolete in the virtual vocabulary where the most clicked word is indifference. Nevertheless, the unspoken phrases at the moment that mattered, that is before, and the necessary and never performed actions when they would have really saved the rest of the story, they find space the same, six months after a dream called ...
by Alessandro Ghebreigziabiher