Every time I thought of you it was a plural thought. Numerous, crowded, full of round and indivisible moments. One leaned against the other, like us who are your strength and my strength. Every time I thought of you, it was a thought of gratitude, my life that has clothed itself in yours and has been wrapped and covered by it, protected and warmed up. In you and with you. Every time I thought of you it was at night, with my heart at peace, it was during the day, with my soul running. And you were with me, like a ring that you clasp between your fingers without even realising it, which you never take away, which touches with you all your days, which moves your own gestures. I gave you a gift that is all of this, the exact number of all the times I thought of you, starting from the first, on that stone and rain bench at the University: Piazza Dante, …

Multiply 365 by the number of your years, add what you need to complete leap years: these are the days that we know each other, from the cradle on which I climbed to peek at you to that of your Niccolò, auntie’s dearest.
You’re a sister, you’re a friend, you’re a partner, and you’ve always been. With the backpack on the shoulders coming back from school, 30 years later with that of our trip to Peru. On the Andes we told ourselves what the heart knows and often keeps silent, warmed only by stars never so close. Lima, Cusco, Arequipa and Puerto Maldonado. I have enclosed the stages of that journey, and of that other that is our life, in a ring, or rather two. I will always keep one, as I will always keep you; the other is the gift with which I say thank you.

Alice is the only woman who manages to be obeyed by words. Especially the unspoken ones. Those that arrived in the morning, just waking up. Or those that arrive at any moment, stop for an instant, suspended – bouncing – looking up and the baby breath. She says “HELLO…” in that way that is always new and always the same. Then erases everything. Alice is BeautiFUL. Then she erases everything: the contours of the leaves, those under the tree, drawn by hand and pencil. Only the contours. The round and soft branches. The waves of the sea. Alice erases all the contours and leaves all the inside. Invisible. Unattainable by everyone. Almost.

Words start. Words end. You are infinite. Infinite.

And this is beautiFUL.

The day we met, you were late. 16 years late. A father like you has other things to do. That day it was just you and me, even though I have

the impression of a crowd of words around us. I, the suspect, you, and your expression. It took you 21 days to convince me, to free my heart and explain why. I did not want to believe you, but I felt I believed you. And I became your son, the circle that closes, the missing link, every sphere in its place. The bronze that became

silver and the embrace of 1 new sister and 1 new brother. Your gifts, which asked to forgive, were no longer needed. Now it is up to me: I gift you with the idea that blends together the moments with which you have completed my life. I have put there all the numbers that we are.

28. Always 28.

28 and something, 28 minus something, never 29. I have always run after work or on weekends. As an antistress, my shoes and the people in the park, those who, by complicity gazes and nods with sweaty forehead, lap after lap have become friends. I have not been running for long, more or less from last year. I was watching TV and I said to myself: I need to get up from the couch and do something, I too want to run those large, beautiful, international marathons. And I did it, but I almost never got to the end. “You do it to participate”, they say, but not even in training I managed to overcome myself. 28 kilometres at most, and then I collapsed. Since then, every time I come cross a 28 I remember what are my limits and I think about how to overcome them. I learned one thing: boundaries are made to be overcome, but it takes patience, common sense and a lot of training.

So, today I am writing my next goal in black on white: 29.001 meters to run. Here is my number.