A 40 year-old man sits at the computer reading a letter from Helena, listening to an old song that’s not so old and suddenly he feels something odd, fragile and overwhelming rising inside him, the need to cry. He stifles this feeling. Squints. Gets a hold. Good song, he thinks.
“The roads of life are not what I expected, not what I believed, not what I had imagined. The roads of life are hard to tread, are are hard to walk, and I can’t find a way out”.