Giorgio is a friend of mine and he became blind very young.
He tells me how his perception has changed, he tells of the colors he no longer has, of the sky he knew so well, of all the times he has crossed it; tells me that I have to look down on the places I love if I want to understand them… he remembers when he was a watchmaker, of the magic that was created every time tiny gears found their place, fitting into the only possible combination capable of generate the beat, as in life, in its variables. He talks about the stars, chased to the point of madness in a firmament that he now knows by heart; a doctor once confided to him that his unconscious was preparing him for darkness. Giorgio doesn’t hide his eyes with me, making me understand that that sort of modesty is for others.
