the soul remains the same

The soul of a city is immutable, despite the perpetual passage of time.
Its colours, the streets, the faces made of concrete and iron and the bright green of the gardens and countryside, that gradually changes, giving way to asphalt.
What remains, however, is the invisible embrace that cradled our childhood, creating memories that we will then cherish as adults.
The mind, day after day, sets within itself points of reference incapable of fading, images that the heart can still see if the gaze rests on that brick, on that crossroads, on that worn graffiti.
I see the avenues traveled thousands of times, running so as not to return home late.
I feel the intense cold and the hot summers, where we was three on the same bike.
The shop windows are still as full of wonder, as they were in the Christmas days.
The creaking swings and the children metal slides are still there, where hands and knees have often seen better times.
Through observation, beyond the first glance, everyone will be able to retrace themselves through memory, unlocked by images that are all too familiar, almost stubbornly taken for granted. We will thus be able to conceive what until yesterday was a simple agglomeration of buildings, as a living entity that guards our consciences, as it was for those who preceded us and will be for those who come after us.

There is a thin thread that runs through the decades without ever changing, beyond the bulldozers and construction sites, weapons of progress that does not want and does not know how to listen to reason.

A thread that is like a soul. A soul that remains the same.