Matany express

MERRY CHRISTMAS. Even Sara has returned to Italy. She came back to spend Christmas in the affection of her family and get some rest because Matany is a passion that does not allow breaks, which claims a total dedication, breathless. Now we are both here, with one half of our heart full of wellknown landscapes and faces, of many stories stitched together from small and big events to form the fabric of our lives that were before landing in Matany and are still. And here we are orphans of that half that remained there, full of other stories, other landscapes, other faces that have become another life. We wanted to write a Matany Express that would allow us to embrace you all, dear friends who have patiently and, we believe we can say, even affectionately followed us in our stories. We wanted to say thank you for your invisible presence beside us which made us feel always in company, always followed and somehow protected from the attention and caresses of your eyes that scroll the words on the computer screens. Now we are both here, but without ever being fully returned. We never returns from an experience that has changed our life, that patient was waiting our arrival at the stop of the fate. And Matany has not given up waiting. It gave us time and opportunity to return to live where we can not not be, but left us in the knowledge that even without its skies, its spaces and its people, we can live. Matany neither gives nor takes to everyone equally, because each of us is different, because our dreams are different and each of us ends up being what he dreams. Matany is a dream or a nightmare or simply nothing, nothing but a passage, one of the many for lifes traced by footsteps on sand continually brushed by the wind of fate. Matany is the one that each of us brings to life in his heart, in the shadows of his soul where grow like strange flowers, questions in search of light. Sara and I have tried to share with you what is Matany for our hearts, some of the questions that grow in the shadows of our souls, the childlike wonder for the beauty of the skies and of the spaces that we have seen, the joy of a lifetime found and torn to death in a harsh and merciless daily play of bets, the sadness for the failure and the stubbornness for the new challenge. Sara and I will go back to Matany because Matany expects us and we were not be able nor we wanted to cancel the appointment. We could not do it, our halved heart, like a fairy-tale character of Calvino, would never find peace, the peace that the love for Matany feeds and makes us be different even here, even away from there, because Matany neither gives nor takes to all in equal measure, at least not as it gave and got us. Merry Christmas to all of you, Brothers and Friends.

Sara and Agostino

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