Every day, on my way to work, I drive through a street that, if it wouldn't stop, it would lead me directly to the alps. Normally Milano is way to polluted to see the monuntains, but sometimes a blessed rain or some wind clean the air, and everything is visible for miles.
And those are the worst days.
Those are the days when, while I drive, I wish I didn't have to stop. Sometimes the feeling is so intense that I feel like not going to work, craving to reach those white tops.
Then I have to turn left, and the dream is broken, and an unspeakable sadness pinches my heart.
But, to tell the truth, during those days it's only my body that turns left, and goes to work: my soul has gone further on, miles away, on those icy tops, where the sun is so strong in contrast with the coldness of the snow, where the wind freezes your nose-hair, where everything is white and peaceful, where I can imagine that, walking, I would reach a green valley with a chalet, a lake and trees, a place of bliss where I could be free.
It's all about this: freedom.
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