I still see the trees and feel the wind that gently shakes the leaves and the big buildings when the light is fading and the evening is more than a promise that people going back home like ghosts of June can't keep even though Milano is looking great and you come to me and say hello pumpkin can we live in this park forever and eat melon.
Thinking of someone, a long time ago, another city, and I'm not sure if it happened that way or it is just my imagination.