People around me find it strange for me to take with me what I have the most and cherish, even if it's weird. Cuddly toys or even... My books, my plays. It's weird in the eyes of others, but for me, it's priceless. "The work I have is so old... My father gambled his connections to get me one of the oldest versions. I doubt it's written by Shakespeare himself, but maybe one of his descendants or something." Half-thoughtful.
At the same time, I listened to the young boy explain to me that he had already been to Venice. "My cousin on my mother's side lives there, but I'm on a hill at the top of the Colosseum, a few miles away, but all in all, in Rome. My grandma lives there, it's like a vacation home if you see the thing. One day you'll come, you promise me that Matthew? And if you're interested, I also have a book about the Trojan War. Okay, do you want more cookies? You brought what, you?" I say, a little bit of a question and a laugh at the same time.
I also wanted to ask him about something deeper, but I was a little worried that it would be weird. No big deal. "You know, it's not easy for anyone to leave their family. I'm the middle child of the family and I'm forgotten about everything, then that stress is gone now but a new one has come along. You may be my only friend at this point in the year, but I look brave to defend my own, but this weight is heavy. I don't care about the nastiness about who we are. Muggle born at this point. It's amazing to have someone who understands. You're amazing." Thanks, goodness, for this friend!
