I was born in Treviso, a small town near Venice in North Italy, the city in which I've lived most of my life. In Italy I was a Registered Nurse, I'm married and I have two children. I love any kind of music, I play guitar, piano, and above all, I sing. I love walking in the nature, I love painting, I love praying, I love reading and I love writing. In Italy I've published three short stories anthologies:

Il sole in una lacrima, 2009, who won the literary prize Il Saggio.

Il sentiero della libertà, 2011.

Ti ho visto, 2013.

On 2015, I've published my first novel: Il tempo senza ore, who won the literary prize Prunola 2017, the prize "Il lato notturno della vita" 2017, the prize IBRSC Belluno 2016, and it was finalist at the Campiello 2016. From Il tempo senza ore was created a theater show: Il tempo senza ore show.

On June 2019, I moved with my wife and my children to the beautiful Thousand Oaks, California, and I started a new adventure with a new book:                        Bright Yellow Souls.

Kevin was only a teenager when decided to escape from his past, studying as a nurse. He didn't expect to discover that he would become a person able to give and receive so much love. These are stories of pain, sufferance, but also hope, optimism, joy for life, and above all love. And between the lines, the silent presence of God, who through Kevin, takes care of the sick bodies of those wonderful people; and through them, He takes care of Kevin's suffering soul.

I believe that money is for sure important to live in this world, but our soul growth is important either in this life, or in the other.

I believe that in each job, salary is for sure important to keep our body alive, but the words "Thank you honey", "I love you my friend", "You are so important for me" as well as a sincere smile that arises spontaneously from the heart, are indispensable to heal our deepest pains, and keep our soul alive.

In this book I collected real stories about people I met working as a nurse in Hospital, Nursing Homes, or disabled centers; they were alla wonderful people, I had with them and their relatives a very deep friendship. Most of them passed away, and sometime I miss them. So I wrote these stories because those people really helped me to find a sense in this life, and I'm sure they can help many other people who are living a bad moment, to find the strenght to hold on.

I wrote their stories, because I haven't found any other way to say them: Thank you.  I love you.

                                                                      Luca Favaro.

One day, the president of the nursing association for which I was working, asked me to assist Barbara to replace a collegue of mine, who was forced to quit, due to family problems: I accepted but I had many doubts, because I knew I was going to face a very delicate and challenging situation, under the care profile, as well as under the psychological one. Barbara was introduced to me as a very difficult person, suspicious, well informed in the medical domain and, as a consequence, very critical of doctors and nurses, angry at the world and basically aggressive. I wasn't very surprised, considering the situation. But in spite of these expectations, I bonded with her immediately.

First of all, Barbara was a music teacher, which was my big passion, and this already was a common element between us. Before she took ill, she had directed the parish choir and I, as a singer, could not help talking her same language. She loved the mountains and for this reason, she found a full resonance with a serious mountaineer like me. She also had two children that were approximately the same age as mine; so, with all these interests in common, it was natural that a particular understanding developed between us, turning a simple professional relationship into a deep friendship. When Barbara was feeling bad, outside my working hours, she called me direct, bypassing the nurse on call and I would rush to her house. She wasn't simply a patient who needed me; she was Barbara, a dear friend and these two expressions reverberated differently in my heart.

Her mood went hand in hand with her health, so she was quite unstable. Every time, before entering her house, I wondered which kind of situation I was going to find. There was always a broad margin of unpredictability in Barbara's condition. In her living room, a wonderful black grand-piano stood out; I would have loved to have played it, but I lacked the courage to ask for her permission. That piano had a sacred scent and instilled respect and reverence. In the days when she was feeling well, she spent many hours playing it and just like the musical notes produced by the instrument, her mind followed her soul in a rise to eternity. How could I interrupt her in that situation? I would have committed a mortal sin. I'd rather sit down and dream with her in a heart-to-heart speech, in a language composed of pure vibrations.

In those days, Barbara was pleasant, in a disarming way. She was always ready to tell jokes and she had a protective, maternal instict that was not reserved only for her children but that she lavished on me and on all her friends. Every two weeks I drew her blood to control her coagulation; with all the chemotherapy she'd had, her veins were a true disaster. I had always to use a little needle and sometimes i had to insert it in her foot. She never took it badly; she had a tendency to see the funny side of everything and, sometimes I almost had the impression she was basking in her masochism and found it funny to pe punctured. Perhaps, thanks to her optimistic attitude, I always found her vein on my first attempt and this says a lot abount the importance of positive thought...