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I just now realised that the brutal image of a pyre has been camping out on my blog for a while.... As much as my post was coming from my heart, I don't want to give the idea that I am a militant gay-rights activist or a hater. I am not.
I am a father, a husband and a human being that tries to make the most of his time in this life.
Ivana, you are right, it's not worth it the waste of breath or the emotional aggravation on some people.
I am learning.
I can't forgive, that's not really me, when something breaks, it stays broken. But I can forget and move on. A real friendship never breaks beyond repair.
I was so busy defending myself that for a moment I lost sight of my son's little face, the one sight that proves that everything I feel is right, wholesome and amazing.
My mistake.

As we are preparing for a six weeks-long italian holiday in Rome, this shall be my last post for a while. I wanted to leave here a beautiful poem that my lovely Alessandra sent me this morning.
She did so after reading my latest post and she shone a bright light.
Thank you Ale.
I realise that my tone is somewhat sombre today, it's not meant to be, but I am waiting for some news from across the ocean where a friend is in a lot of pain.
He is a hero for maintaining his kindness through pain and his spirituality through hardship.
He is somebody's child as well, and his mum is with him in this difficult times. We all are.
This poem is also for them..... And for all of you.

See you in September.


On Children
Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.