James G Brennan
Places where we can find the same smile again
A few days ago I was in a pub,
here in Italy.
There was a band playing Irish music.
There were beers, friends, and, out there, an almost full moon.
There was that feeling,
which fortunately assails me quite often,
about life being worth living after all.
The next day, I found a notification from Medium among my emails.
A mention in a story.
I was at work,
caught between the usual attempts to solve human problems
by algorithms,
and I read the story in a hurry, with greed,
after a year’s absence from Medium,
and for a moment,
with a time-traveling heart,
with a tight stomach,
for an instant,
I cried.
I cried, I don’t know why.
That is, I know.
Because on the same day that I read the story,
when I learned the news about the ocean and James G Brennan,
I remembered the death anniversary of another friend of mine.
Because, when I started writing here on Medium,
James was one of the first to welcome my tentative texts,
to give advice,
because we talked about books and the ocean and tortellini,
because he promised me,
when I went to Ireland,
to point me to secret, magnificent, optimistic places.
Places that had his own smile.
Here, the world is made up of places where we have met,
where we meet others.
Stones where we sat next to each other one summer evening,
kitchens we share daily,
cities,
architectures of intersecting existences.
And stories.
Because stories are also places.
Places that we can reread, that we can exchange.
And remember together, laugh about,
move us,
console each other.
Places we can go home to.
Places where we can find the same smile again. Thank you James 😊🍀
My special thanks to Lee Ameka, for letting me know in this story of hers:
