They multiply relentlessly. They weigh the soul more and more. Populating memories. Accompany. Evoke bittersweet nostalgia of what was or might have been. Sometimes, too, they hurt. As the years pass, they absent a surprising prominence charge which we just apercibimos in the day. They are shadows that walk beside the city, come with us to a family restaurant, watching us from a photograph in black and white, retrieve voice and warmth in those dreams would not want to wake up. They are there, in eerily increasing numbers. They have their own entity, specific nature, sometimes almost corporeality, as much as sorry, but usually their role is similar to the air we breathe without being aware of doing so. Then comes a special date, a special event, a celebration associated in memory of his presence, and burst suddenly on emotion, that elephant in china shop, knocking down mercilessly all defensive barriers that get up layer by layer in order to scare the sadness caused by his absence. Excuse me, dear reader, this incursion extemporaneous territory outside the column usually hosts. The Counterpoint usually travel along the roads of affairs, which provide more than enough for daily reflection of this centenary ABC in which I am honored to collaborate material. Today is extraordinarily moved to the realm of the heart, understood in Machadian sense, because it starts a new year and it's time balances and purposes. Because if something life teaches is that the moment of truth, matters turn out to be something practically irrelevant compared with the affections that nourish the heart. For whoever has no heart nor know their language lacks the capacity to penetrate to the bottom of any matter referred to the human being. Because I'm sure you too, friend in the distance, remember these days with singular intensity to all those people who meant something in their walk and left behind an indelible mark. They live in us. They are. Is it so. Also today, here, in this space that we share with many of them. I think it has reached that stage of existence in which the timing is not measured and by leaves but by plugs. Run the hundred meter dash. Flying. Career goals that marked milestones have already been met or never met. I go into the downhill, without regret, convinced that every moment has its music and all must be danced with equal joy. It is way too much for dancing. And even more to learn. What brings it up again absent those that may be limited to scratching, stay sterile vacuum, or mutate into loyal companions with whom to move forward. I choose the second option. I miss every hug I will not give, every smile of those enclosing a universe of incondicionalidad, each susceptible word infuse value, every phone call, every laugh, that shoulder to mourn without fear or shame. I miss them, but never have renounced them in the certainty of going to lose. Deplore all bad last closed doors, but the truth is they were few because I know very well since ancient times, from painful experience, how easy it is absent when least expected one. And in any case, not one of them would have stopped opening. I choose to continue loving persist in the effort to love, from absolute assurance that true love does not die. Happy New Year!


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