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How I met him

By Maria Sole Martini

I met Antonio in the winter. He arrived suspicious, in silence, with a barely hinted smile, deep eyes and inside a cry, his own, that of many. I accompanied him in the corridors of madness, in the late afternoon when a warrior with tired hands, there was talk of philosophy.


Antonio was angry and happy at the same time, protester, defender of kind souls, delicate and immersed in the thoughts of those who were willing to listen to him. In love with life to the point of screaming at those who have not honored it and to the point of letting go when it was time.

His was a real scream, of those who lived the dark male every day on their shoulders, of those who saw things and walked uphill roads, too often forgotten by the world. He never repressed that scream, he fought against the ugliness of the world with his being himself, sometimes giving a smile, impossible to forget.

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