Actualizado: 23 oct
Nothing lasts for the eternity we believe in, at least not for those who decide to seek comfort, a smile, or a path where the roads are wider and there's room to walk side by side. I dislike that image of the desolate dining room and the frustrated guy trying to force a smile, like Hopper's "Nighthawks," with nothing to say, and no one to say it to... How long will this twilight last? My watch marks the time for failures to end, and I've been remembering anecdotes that I want you to hear because I feel you've arrived. Because this, more than unexpected, feels orchestrated by the Machiavellian force of destiny. I don't believe in those subjective things like the magic of the stars and the lightning cards or in random events related to Jupiter or Mars, but I'm so happy that I doubt there isn't a divine magic that led me to find you.
And you're so beautiful that no adjective can capture it; they fall short in trying to measure the joy in the arch of your smile, the magic in your gaze, the way I've never held the hand of someone who made me feel both vulnerable and great at the same time. You are perhaps a product of probabilities because more souls have passed by than we've counted. We are not just billions breathing today; we are also the rivers of souls that have navigated this ocean since time began until the last star survives. That is our coincidence, being in the same place, the same era, under the same sun and the same star, sharing our wounds, healing our sleepless nights, connecting our souls in the same adagio that Bernstein once played on the piano. The chance of all chances, the joy of looking at you, the manifesto of the relativity of time because no one has ever been able to measure with precision the urgency with which my heart is beating right now.