From an old class photo faded started it all. Missing teeth, aprons, pink bows, preposterous helmets, goggles 80 years. Realize how many things have changed in 12 years and realize that at the same time as everything is unchanged. Voices echo in the air and memories, stories or events that everyone remembers clearly his own way. There the embarrassment of the ice is not broken at the sight of two former classmates that do not hardly even remember the name. Who spoke to you silent hour, who was silent hours quacks, who now loves to hate, who liked to pretend not to see each hour. The past that is already far from us gives way to what we now become: those who study, those who work, who disguises, who is getting married. The gossip of the country and fall on one another, and certainly also affect you in the thousandth of a second that you get distracted. Basically we are always the same, after all we've changed. At the bottom of almost no one wanted to go to this meeting, but in the end we came out all more than satisfied. And then you realize that first of all, before work, the physicist, the family of each person, the thing that has not changed a lot in his head. E 'unthinkable 24 years to plan their wedding (after 9 years of engagement), found a job with thanks to' support of the future father in law, contenting himself with the lean, routine. It can be love? E 'unthinkable that your boyfriend does not send you to the peak of class, do not know what mysterious reason! E 'unthinkable atteggiarasi a bad boss with a lot of chain around his neck, until a few years ago when you played with us in the streets of the country! Everything is silent, everything changes, courses and resorts, and between a laugh and a Bud the evening flowing serene. Flow of thoughts time that was, you realize you can say I lived for two decades, you realize that it's growing and a thousand other things to want to do. And like you, so luckily there are other, even though others in the stable domestic tranquility, or even in ordinary-nothing found their modus vivendi. Clouded memories that become funeerei omens, like Libera nos a Malo Meneghello, because everything passes and nothing comes back, and everything seems to an end a run unstable uncertain.
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