Canari

I remember the last time that mother took me in her arms. Back then, i

was a wee boy. Five years old, naive but with highly developed intuition.

I knew that she was pregnant so i never persisted. In fact, i believe that

persistence and obstinacy were never my strong points or at least, that is

what she told me. I knew that my father's habits had affected her. She was

fighting against herself. I knew when she was happy or sad. I knew when

she was hiding things or when she was in pain. I knew her even if she

didn't know me. Everyone saw in her a warrior who kept the battle going.

A warrior who wore herself out but carried on. I saw in her a bird with

clipped feathers who wished to fly for once. I tried to design a pair of

wings. Hoping that they would bring her farther than her arms ever did.