Transporting A Paintball Gun In Ontario

few words (so many ... because if they are called, and many say it).

Those 30 seconds of vibration medium (in Rome), a bed - an inanimate object - which kicks in a lilting like riposseduto .
That quake was a kind of "connection" between me and them: the 150 deaths (207 to h.14: 08, nda), those injured in 1000, those not-so-many displaced persons. I felt a strange
empathy, a fear that the same but then it faded, because it did not happen here (more) nothing, and there it all happened.
For 30 seconds I've lived, that "everything", then I only saw what (I) could have happened.
Their despair could have been mine, their fear of mine, their my death.
This was only the deafening echo of a scream, but the voice that produced it was the same.
And you feel lucky, but at the same time guilty for waking deserved this chance.
Why me?
Why them?
E 'was a shock that we have enjoyed, but was also a shock that divided us from more than 150 "we" who had the only fault (?) Of being in a place where I was not myself.
A place not too far away, a place I could reach easily. So how can a voice with an echo.


No, you can not understand, I can not even understand.
I'm watching the interviews of people who lost family, friends, homes. Not even my tears and theirs are the same because I can "afford" not to understand, they are "forced" to accept.