The house is located in the red zone, the only way to get there without being arrested and escorted by firefighters. Approaching the center sensations are already strong, the abandoned apartment blocks, spread sheets flutter like ghosts. Are required for peace on deaf ears. The border between the possible and yet not a place block. Let's move on and the scenario is that of a curfew during the war. Amid the rubble of the houses still standing are deeply wounded soul, the soul that wanders and takes refuge in the eyes of those who arrive. Now the feelings become odors, musty odor, mold and dust, the smell of tears. Fire fighters are kind, they feel pain and try to work with confusion, mainly because it is so confusing that you try entering the house, your home and see that the safety, warmth and shelter have become in a few seconds destruction and fear. The unavailability is not only the walls are obstructing corners of small habits where to meet when you get lost, they are obstructing cabinets in which to search their memories when you have nostalgia, are obstructing mirrors in which we do not see each other when it is recognized more. A house is uninhabitable much, much more than what can be perceived from a newscast and we see it in his eyes that would like to be alone to re-order thoughts and the last few things. But you can not, we must go. Mama do not cry, you'll see your roses survive.
