Walking in my heart E-Book

Stefania Tavazzani

• Herausgeber: Stefania Tavazzani
• Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

Anna and Francesca have a symbiotic relationship from the moment they met, at kindergarten. When they discover to love each other, the initial incertitude gives way to a pure, total love. When Francesca dies under mysterious circumstances Anna begins a journey in search of the truth and herself.

Leseprobe

Stefania Tavazzani

WALKING IN MY HEART

UUID: ee7cfd0c-65d4-11e5-bca5-119a1b5d0361

Questo libro è stato realizzato con StreetLib Write (http://write.streetlib.com)un prodotto di Simplicissimus Book Farm

Indice dei contenuti

Francesca

The revelation

The world has stopped

Leda

Why Lisa?

The party

I really love you

Where are you going, Fra?

Walter and the secret

A bolt from the blue

The funeral

At school with Francesca

Two months

The love of grandparents

Invitation to the party

Where is our stone?

The party and Leucippus

The green stone

What do you hide, Leucippus?

Thank you, mum

Traveling to Santiago

David

The revelation

The journey begins

David, i love you

Francesca, now i realize

One step away from the truth

Mum, i am back

At the Police station

Everything is lost now

Walking in my heart

Francesca

FRANCESCA

A flower.

Just a tiny common, yellow flower. The only evidence that links them to the murderer.

To me, according to their initial suspicions.

An anonymous flower.

I love flowers. I sell them. But this doesn’t make me a murder.

I loved Francesca. First as a sister, a friend, a loved one.

Then with all the emphasis and the emotion of a real, great, primeval love.

The love between a man and a woman and between two people of the same sex.

But first things first.

I knew Francesca since school, the first school, I mean the nursery.

The morning we met I thought she was a creature from another planet. So beautiful, she filled the room with her presence. An ethereal girl, with long blond curls and unreadable blue eyes.

Francesca didn’t look at things, she saw things, people, and every detail. And she didn’t hear, she listened too.A childso smallwith the inquisitivenessof an adult.

That was the first of many mornings spent together ,elbow to elbow, always just the two of us, in good and bad times.

I was so jealous of Francesca, it bothered me when she paid attention to the other children, seeing her playing with themsharing their spaces.

I wanted her to myself, my best friend forever.

We were as one also at the elementary school, atthe same desk, always, for 5 years .

But things change, you grew up and, inevitably you are no longer so unique.

She found other friends at the upper school, and so did I even if I didn’t give a damn about them, using them for spite, to get her angry

to make her jealous ,but she seemed unawareof my pathological attachment for her.

Francesca remained the child I met: neither jealousy nor bitterness.

She talked to everyone, and everyone was a friend.

Time distanced us, inevitably. After the high school I entered the University to become an interpreter, and she moved to Milan to her philosophy studies.

A philosopher…I thought that it was the perfect school for her nature.

Our little country continued to live its quite daily life with the buildings that stood ordered one beside the other ,the routineswallowed me up completely, and it didn’t give me time to think that maybe I should and could have called her sometimes.

Before leaving Francesca gave me her mobile number, begging me to call her now and then, and she would have done the same, as soon as she settled into the new house that her parents have rented in the center of the city.

Many times I was about to do it ,but I immediately changed my mind, perhaps for fear of disturbing her, to cause her discomfort in some way, even though I knew it would not be so.

Days passed away with a thousand things to do; studies, chores at home and much more.

My parents split up a few years before and I decided to remain with mum, who run a beautiful flower shop, where I fell in love with these scented wonders, so delicate but at the same time strong and determinedin growing upand to face even the most impetuous winds.

I spent every afternoon in the shop, inebriating myself with the most different scents, from the sweetest to the strongest, to that one who stuns you just by passing near it.

The revelation

didn’t give a damn about them, using them for spite, to get her angry

to make her jealous ,but she seemed unawareof my pathological attachment for her.