#OneShot || For me you are like Bergamo

Bergamo

"Maybe I never told you, but to me you are like Bergamo"

Yes, again. Still the same song over and over again. Same words and rhythm that even the furniture had listened to millions of times.

It was never enough for Nina. Every time her favorite song of hers, Bergamo, ended she had to listen to it again, steal every detail - albeit tiny - of the words accompanied by the guitar.  It could be said that they had become days in which she listened to nothing but that song, sitting at her desk, in front of a piece of paper stained with ink so as to form some words thrown down.  An endless stream of consciousness that she had been writing for days.

It was just a crumpled sheet of paper, wet with a few tears that fell from her.

Tears, just like that.

Those weren't happy days, they were her worst days in her entire life.

- A few more months if all goes well.  -

So her doctors told her parents.  They wanted to keep it a secret from him, but they seemed to have forgotten a detail;  the irrepressible curiosity of Nina who rarely did not meddle or eavesdrop.

A few more months and it would all be over.  Such a young life cut short, there was no way to cure it or to prolong that moment a little longer.  They had done it for too long, it would have been impossible to do it again.

- There is no remedy. We have tried them all, sorry.  -

There were only three of them who knew the news;  the mother, the father and the sick woman.  The rest of the world hardly knew the battle that Nina fought hard every day against cancer.  Operations, interventions, seemed to have increased her life and she took the victory of those battles.

The war, however, seemed to win her tumor.  No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't win.

When she Nina listened to the doctors' words she couldn't speak.  She had always been a smart girl, and sad as she was, she expected such an outcome.  Yet she, despite her expecting it, she was shocked to know the truth.  It was something too hard to digest.

Her tears flowed spontaneously, without her noticing it, while the emptiness gripped her stomach and made her sick.  She looked like she was going to throw up but she didn't.

She wanted to go home as soon as possible and her parents accepted her request, trying not to let the sadness and fear of losing her control them. Even if it was hard, they had to do it for her. They had to accept the fact of her and make her live these last moments in the best way.  They didn't know if they were strong enough to do it, but willy-nilly they would have to take courage.

From that day on Nina never went out. She only went to school, in the afternoon she stayed in her room and let her thoughts go on paper.

So there she was, sitting at the desk, holding a pen that she was starting to unload.

Every now and then her mother came into her room and asked her to go out, she was always rejected with a sharp no, with a slightly hoarse tone that covered the evidence of crying.

What she wrote on that sheet no one knew.  Just her.

While she slept she carefully hid it in a drawer that she locked and the next day she took it back immediately, even before having breakfast, and immediately she started the usual song from the name of the same hometown of her, Bergamo.

Like the song, that city always brought her a smile.  She had lived there all her childhood and she had fond memories there.  And now that she was in Milan, that song seemed to bring her closer to her beloved city of hers.