The hustle and bustle of life mustn’t rob you of enjoyment. Otherwise, love will pass you by like a freight train.
Life is a flash of lightning, and then, the curtain falls, and there is no applause and not many tears.
The dead to the hole and the living to the bun, as the Spanish proverb says.
Every day is the same, and being the same has subtle differences. The hurry prevents us from seeing them, but there are some, as in Galicia, the Meigas.
One fine day, everything seems the same: same decor, same breakfast, same heavy boss, and on the way home, some emerald green eyes stumble upon you, smile at you, and invite you to adventure.
And everything transforms and starts to smell like a new car. And life, once gray, shines in full color, like a Full HD television.
It’s too bad that time dilutes the colors and condemns you again to sepia and gray when your glow in the eyes loses the strength and vigor of that first chance encounter.
The miracle of love is like a Hippie T-shirt that fades in the washing machine over the years. A delicate but necessary garment.
For without those little moments of romance, routine weighs like a tombstone.
Life is pain and more pain. Life is a desert and, from time to time, an oasis. So thirsty for hope, we recover the lost illusion.
We live in a strange world, so connected but at the same time so far apart that it scares me to think about the relative distances.
How far apart are two hearts facing each other, living under the same roof? —Two strangers sleeping in the same bed but having different dreams.
How far away does the rancor of lost love live?
How far is my happiness from your pain?
How to help you, how to help us, if empathy lies starving, begging, half dead in a corner. Set apart so as not to disturb the individuality that is the norm and surrounds us all.
Where we lost our way as a civilization. When we missed the exit on the highway of life. When we became monsters.
Why don’t we do something? Why don’t we help each other?
A virtual hug
AG
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