Looking from the window, with the emptiness that causes the lost glance, I attempt to summarize in thoughts or sensations the reason of all things that form a part of life. Friends who will not return, partners who disappeared by the onslaughts of life, and above all, that eternal fear that generates doubt to everything that surrounds us, even to assume the risk of taking or giving life to a living creature. It is so hard for me to walk on the line where creation is born and at the same time to come out to the abyss of depression.
Does everything have to be motivated by interest? are we losing the memory?
So difficult seems life that we cannot make things just for the satisfaction of giving life or happiness? And if this is true. Why do we become so blind for what we received in freedom, to turn it into an obligation to who gave it?
Everything is sold, everything is bought. What presumption. We allow ourself the luxury to make equivalences such as feeling at a price, soul to sell, eternal life with advance payment. I do not understand anything.
God, love, fraternity, anger, envy, suffering, pain in laughter, the happiness in death, the truth by half, the dream in other people's things, and above all, the lack of respect in everything and everyone that surrounds us. It is not putting the bell on the cat but, why is there always a fucking reason to have to put it.
I continue looking through the window, and the necessity to open the door to I do not know what, is the only thing that maintains me unconscious enough to keep away the final fact.
I will or will not have the right, but the truth to die will always exist in the intention of not lying, not even in the mirror.
