If I were to discover who killed my mother ten years ago, if I were dyslexic and wanted to save my father.
If I had to make Barbara Lo Curzio fall in love with me, endure my grandfather dying every month, and his porn VHS tapes.
And if some nights I struggled to sleep, and then dreamed horrible dreams, like small hungry fish eating the light and slowly making everything disappear into darkness and I would wake up feeling terribly alone.
And if everything was too big, too difficult, at thirteen years old.
Then I guess I would look up, and I would wish that up there was you, hanging from your rings, watching over my mission. With your white and blue suit, muscles, and red hair, like mine. Because even Athens 2004 was impossible, you had torn your tendon. It was impossible, everyone said so. And yet you went on to win a medal. Tommaso Pagano
We will be wisely welcomed by Chiara Alpago Novello at 9:30 for breakfast with coffee, tea, all the good things needed to start the day right: cookies, yogurt and cheeses, fruit jams, and whatever the awakening and the season inspire, all from zero kilometers. At 12:30, a light lunch, greetings, and toasts. In between, chats, questions, beautiful ideas. As much as you want.
