It 's always sad to return from a trip. Return from memories left behind or lost in photos taken in places and people that do not meet anymore. It happens in life. It will happen many times. And when it happens, 17 years, even you realize. But a little 'farther in time, of course you know it. You can tell by the white hair, beard growing and the passing years. Or when, looking in the mirror, no longer sings "Some nights' dreaming smoking in nightclubs in the center of the anonymous Sunday afternoon of a winter 90s. And then the missed opportunities, regrets and remorse of a youth spent among books wet from the rain and aphorisms by chance on crumpled diary. So it happens, and you do not know why, that those trips to rethink, in an anonymous November evening, you are tender. Tenderness as those girls in the narrow bus crowded with young people bored by everything and everyone with thick glasses and emotions without lira closed in the portfolios. It 'sad return from a trip. And even more sad is that it can not cover those pictures of hidden or thrown into baskets anonymous city, taken from anger and envy of the moment. "Time passes, the memory remains."
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