Melancholy re-enactments

Lying in my favorite chair, I sadly recall my life now that I am alone. Even Roberto, the only reason in my life, my little boy left me to go to study abroad.

My mother, not yet 18, gave birth to me 39 years ago. My father, who was the same age as her, loved her since middle school. They were precocious lovers.
We lived in the large family home, located above the printing house where my father Luca was employed.
My…