Hi everyone, I would like my parents to go to Argentina to v
My Travel Story
Rosa began to forget things: her husband's name, where he was, even who he was. John, with a broken heart, told her their love story every day, hoping that at least once she would remember. When Rosa died in the spring, Giovanni stopped going out on the balcony. He spent his days sitting by his empty chair, talking to a framed photo.
One autumn evening, with the sky red with melancholy, Giovanni fell asleep for the last time, whispering Rosa's name. No one noticed immediately. Only the wind, passing through the light curtains, seemed to cry with him.
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