It's the third world war and I'm in the middle of the new Blitzen. Bullets and bombs keep flying over the Atlantic, every time the phone rings I know it's time to take cover and hope for the best, or the least horrible.
The latest news from Italy is that Lorenzo is in a coma and apparently doesn't get better. I feel so powerless, and all I can do is listen to the news, miles and miles away from him. I wish I could do something, anything, but even if I was there next to his bed he wouldn't hear me. Father keeps telling me to pray, but I can see the slight hesitation in his dark green eyes.
I'm trying to talk to God, but if, as a child, I was certain that he always listened, now I can only hope as I lose one more hour of sleep.