The long Sunday, trays of fresh-pastarelle "mom just got more chocolate! - Lunches brought from the endless, the smell of sauce just opened the door, those from faint scents of noodles and then the kisses, hugs and boisterous greetings, and that always meet the same, always the same hopelessly, childhood and then the transformations of adolescence and then again ...
over how it is that mothers and fathers, brothers generate this race, it is not known.
a kind of brotherhood, but with a certain distance, greater objectivity, and then recognize that each one of its kind, as if each complete a puzzle, family, a card put there at the right place, that just as we wanted to complete the picture ...
that Sunday, I remember, Aunt Antoinette, a house that could contain microscopic ramshackle this band and we all came, football matches, the comments on TV, and were those interminable Sundays, once stretched endlessly, without time Sunday that the next day you had to go to school, but was in no hurry for it to end and in fact never ceased to be together and do nothing, if not a lot of noise, that one wonders what we screamed, we shouted to who and why then, in those few square feet, it was impossible not to feel ... We
cousins \u200b\u200bwere there, surrounded by the reassuring family kinship and even now, after years in which a married twice, the other has given birth to a swarm of children, the other party and made his fortune elsewhere, those who hold fast to its freedom, those who put scene in his dreams, here we are always the same, despite all the possible metamorphosis, forever young, years later, you see that nothing has changed, the "cousin" has remained there, untouched, has not been tarnished by time, work and sons, it was not consumed, a kind of timelessness that surrounds it beyond the pain of losses, the struggles that everyone goes in his life, always brings us back to that beginning when we were unconscious, and were innocent of life, or boldly confident that life was just that stay together in birthday cakes, pastries, trays filled with cups of coffee and comments on the derby ... Animated .. perhaps we have shared those Sundays marked indelibly imprinted that we share in the shock of parents and grandparents so crazy that maybe they are the real architects of this "cousin", perhaps they need a never-ending love that connects the innocence to disillusionment, their children to ours, in an ancestral plot, a story not to be missed.
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