Diego De Silva takes a step to the side, moves away from the irresistible vicissitudes of Vincenzo Melanchochico and gives us a simple love story. Simple to say, because the bet is all here: in hiding the depth on the surface, in dating desires and pains, hopes and ruins, with few essential words, straight and above all true. Because, as Fanny Ardant said, the lady of the next door, only the skinny stories and the songs say the truth about love: what is bad, how good it is good. Only there is the absolute. Thus De Silva takes his two characters and observed them with patience, the pawns, asking us to follow him - and to follow them - without asking questions. Irene wants to be happy, and when her marriage begins to limp her leaves. Nicola is alone, confusedly saddened by the death of a woman who had stopped loving for some time. He too, like Irene, is moved by an absolute urgency of happiness. He also wants a love and knows exactly as he wants it to be done. They would be destined for a great story, if only they met once in the bistro that they both attended. But the case wants that every time Nicola arrives, Irene has just went away. If the lives of Nicola and Irene do not meet until the end, their heads instead meet in the pages of this book: thoughts, the drifts, the feeling are drawn continuously, are bridges thrown towards nothing or towards the 'other. Perhaps, towards the unexpected moment when happiness finally affects.