dad, I think about you too. you are there in every rustle in the trees, in the crates of fresh fruits, the first sip of coffee in the morning, in needing not much, in simple moments, in being free on the road.
mom, it is always nice to hear your voice. you are there the smalltalk with strangers, in the signatures of painters, in the keepsake I carry, in every flowerbed, in doing it despite, in carrying on.
there is a remembrance, always. my heart is full and I can close my eyes, the sun on my face. I am me, always a daughter, always set free, a monument of love, a city of dreams.
The overthinking 
Huge amounts of Love and Pride
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