Always together. In the darkness, in the waiting, in the noise, in the I-don't-knows, in the fear, in the hope, in good times and bad. Always together, I swear. I swear on this cup, on this crust of bread and this little bit of water, that I will not let time separate us. I swear on my skin, on my hands and my lips. Always together, wherever we are. On this side or the other. And then you tell me...we will grow old together. And I tell you...we will grow younger together. On my skin, on my hands and my lips. And on everything else, I swear. (Project writing materials | S. Battaglio)

A house separated by a border, established by man following a temporary armistice, becomes a metaphor for waiting, for a suspended existence, poised between reality and illusion, where the remains of some old furniture can be glimpsed, while all around reverberate the voices, booms, sirens, and sounds of a battlefield. Atom and Levana, survivors of a near-apocalyptic scenario, are a middle-aged couple living between two neighboring countries at war. They spend their time in their small, broken, dented, lopsided, worn-out house, waiting for their beloved son, who has gone off to war, to return and illuminate their present with new hope. There's a war going on somewhere in the world, here or elsewhere, and there's a boundary that physically separates the house, as well as the very lives of the two characters who—in the rhythmic flow of a routine marked by the monotony of repetitive and mechanical actions that result in a constant redefinition of space—veer their existence toward a dimension of profound disorientation, embodying a very human and contemporary condition. Although forced to live in total uncertainty and separated, Atom and Levana are driven by the perpetual desire to find each other, to reunite, to reach the other side by crossing the boundary, to re-establish a form of relationship, of human contact, of closeness that allows them to feel alive again. Perpetually torn between what was and what is no longer, Atom and Levana's precarious and unstable existence needs to be reinvented with the only means still possible: imagination. And it is precisely through their imagination that Atom and Levana build a new existence, fantasizing the strangest things, to the point of imagining that their discarded clothes could even give life to the body of their distant son.

The directorial idea, which underlies the construction of the show, identifies the temporal scansion of the play through a subdivision into three moving acts (Always Together; Borderland; Son), within which, through a layered dramaturgical work, the narrative twists of the story flow.

The show, a blend of theater, dance, and puppetry, seeks to codify a hybrid language in which inanimate objects and the human body can interact, intertwining multiple articulations with the stage space and simultaneously evoking different planes of reality. Through these, the themes present in Dorfman's work are conveyed, prompting profound reflection on the present, on ourselves, and on our relationship with the world today.