Niente di particolare

It smells of warm bread and evening air, where everything seems simple - but somehow not quite right. Words roll off the tongue like a melody without a chorus: nothing special, nothing much... and yet, for some reason, it tugs at the heartstrings. There is a buzz of conversation around me, someone is clicking a joystick, someone is tracing their finger across a map of the world, as if looking for a route back to their former self. And all this is ordinary life, which suddenly becomes the soundtrack to something bigger.

Olive oil on bread, a little salt - and you can go on living. Because the world doesn't collapse, even when you don't know where you're going or if you'll ever return. The main thing is not to dramatize. The rest, as always, is just talk.