I am remembering my vacation in Bern. I went there with friend, we walk together on a street, all so busy talking, i felt strange, I slowed, I let them go in front, I saw them become smaller and I bigger, I started to feel my senses, I felt the stone of houses, the smell of flowers, o the richness of the city, I was finely there just arrived. Why don’t we pay attention, why don’t we see the small things, why we lose ourselves in meaningless chatter, we talk, no one listens, we try to fill the void. The fence rusted, the aged surface waiting for my hand, the suspense, the contact, I shivered, time contracted, I felt the man who long ago said this is mine! What is this town? everyone shouting, mine, mine, not yours.

I felt like a stranger that wants to invade, why am I not welcomed? This flowers are not for me? I don’t deserve their beauty? I’m on a corridor that keeps me from entering, it wants to send me on my way. I want to see the flesh, I want to feel the fabric of the city. I enter in every place, I felt every stone and tree and metal piece, I want this town, the beauty is outstanding. How can I become his? How do I transform myself? Am I transformed? I’m not the one that walked in, no, no it’s different, I felt it, I know it, I am now part of it and Bern is part of me. When I catch up with my friends they will not know that I am someone else.

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