You lived in a small town in Venice. Every morning was warm and real. Any artist, musician and writer dreamed of visiting this city "on the water" to capture their art. In words, in a painting, in music, in history. To leave their mark, even if it was small

You lived on the first floor of an apartment building, right on the banks of the Brenta. Life was always in full swing under your window. People went to work in the morning. During the day, tourists walked around, people from abroad. In the evening, locals sang songs and danced.

It was only because of the evening life that you began to look out the window. And at the same time, you noticed that a new boy had appeared in your yard, whom you did not recognize

The young man was about your age, he always came at almost the same time, and sitting on a bench, he simply watched the dancing women and men. And he was sitting right under your window, because there was a bench under your window, and it would have been easy for you to reach down and stroke his curly light brown hair. But for some reason you didn't do it

One early morning you got up and went to the window to open it and noticed that there was a small letter and a white peony flower clamped under the frame. Opening the window with a quiet creak, you picked up the letter in your hand and opened it. It was...a poem? In neat handwriting, the words of the unknown lay on the white paper, like ink on an old permanent

"Wake me up tomorrow morning, So that I open my eyes again. When the birds in the loud sky Will sing to us about the heavens.

Wake me up, tomorrow morning, To meet the dawn with you. When the sun in the moonlight, Forms a half-light over the earth.

Wake me up, late at night When you are all alone, To hide a smile behind sorrow Waking up your heart from the ice floes."

That's what the little message sounded like, and below was a one-line signature, and for some reason you immediately recognized this mysterious stranger under your window

-"from the boy under your window"