Life is an immense stage on which each of us is called to play an unwritten role. No one receives a script, nor does he know the duration of his part.
We move between lights and shadows, between applause and silence, guided only by intuition, error and the desire to give meaning to our presence. Every gesture, every word, every hesitation becomes a form of knowledge: the concrete testimony of what we have been in that unrepeatable instant in which the being manifests itself.
There is no dress rehearsal in life, nor the possibility of going back to correct the wrong lines. Everything we experience is consumed in time and, at the same time, generates it: it is a unique and definitive act that vanishes as it happens, leaving only an echo — an invisible sign that continues to vibrate in the memory of others, or in the intimate space of universal memory.
At the end of every existence, an invisible book remains: the silent sum of our actions, our thoughts, our failures and our loves. That book is not written with ink, but with the very substance of experience, and survives as a testimony for those who will come after, as a question that each generation asks the next: “What does it really mean to live?”.
This is the book of my life. My attempt to give voice to that trace, to recognize myself in the folds of my story and, perhaps — through the word — to get a little closer to the truth that each of us pursues, reciting by heart a script that has never been written.