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A Maurizio


 Il cuore era stufo e stanco, e si è fermato. Tutto questo lavoro per niente, per strascicare un paio di gambe stanche e una testa che vaga sulle nuvole.

Era un bambino anche lui con gli occhi grandi come due pozzi neri. Gli piacevano i film di cowboy. Voleva essere un agente segreto. Giocavamo sempre alla lotta poi andavamo in bicicletta o sui pattini nel terrazzo, mangiando pane e nutella, e pollo e patatine la domenica. Gli piacevano le storie magiche, i boschi sperduti e la musica rock. Cercava la forza che non aveva dentro nelle pistole dei cowboy e nelle spade di d’Artagnan.


E’ cosi difficile parlare quando si muore. La voce tace, si svanisce nel nulla. Ti lasci dietro solo una scia di coriandoli e un cappello da Zorro.



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