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The small blanket

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The small blanket

Eight years she turned last week. Cheerful eight years, her innocent life full of dreams.

One fateful day in November, one morning on the way to school, she was daydreaming when it happened.

Someone came looking for me to tell me. Without knowing how I reached out to the abyss and the black darkness enveloped my soul.

I put her blanket over part of her body, the little blanket which so often warmed her body. In the middle of the cold. Half broken body.

Now, absent, on the side of the road, abandoned, she did not demand the care of anyone. From me neither.

Who will take care of you wherever you go? Who will you play with your games and feed your dreams?

Who will recompose this moment of farewell, which will always be eternal?

 

 

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