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Fine, di Fernanda Torres

Non mi è rimasto un amico vivo, Ribeiro era l’ultimo. Ero sicuro che mi avrebbe seppellito lui, andava a correre, nuotava, a quarant’anni aveva smesso di fumare e si rifiutava di fare cilecca. 316 more words


Because I’m Fine

In that microsecond, while I was trying to answer the “how are you doing” question, my mind wandered trying to find a suitable answer; should I say the truth out loud and let all the floods settled inside me run down the road of people, or should I stick to the most ordinary answer and prevent that road from being destructed by the amount of questions that will be asked afterwards and which might eventually lead to other problems as well and just say “I’m fine”; that was pretty much a battle which I found difficult to stand on any side of it. 421 more words