THE APPROACH

From the horizon of the one you loved, you return to fully inhabit the visual field. It happens like this. On an ordinary day. Without notice.

It has a strange effect when you realize that you are holding the massive armored door of your heart open with one foot and that you keep holding it open. It is you who allow the blazing light of emotions to filter inside, beyond the blurry shadow of the dark alleys where you were hiding. You don't quite understand why you do it. You just know that you feel an excitement doing it. It doesn't cost you any effort. You don't even wonder why you don't close it. In fact, you don't run away. You feel only the new and urgent need to show yourself openly. - It can't be true - you tell yourself.

A breath of fresh air bursts into your life and sniffs you out from behind the scenes. You rediscover yourself hungry for emotions. Understand that the inner world can be lived and not just described. You even let go of the worry about the ending. It matters little. What matters is to live it. In a continuous shock.

You no longer feel love as a threat but as a real possibility of encountering the world of the other, without macroscopic distinctions: you find the courage to approach it. You no longer worry about protecting your borders from the onslaught of a concrete presence: you agree to investigate the tortuosity of your life, sharing them.

You climb over barriers. You abandon yourself to the enchantment of the moment. You reach out with a smile beyond the line of memories. Pushed by an irrational unleashing of your impulses, you pour yourself completely away from your asphyxiated family habitat. Push your limits a little further. A step beyond the tangle of feelings that have remained entangled in the memory in a more or less latent form. Beyond the lacerations, doubts and insecurities. Beyond the forest of question marks that had kept you company behind the windows from which you continued undeterred to observe the world. Beyond the contradictions, ambivalences and despair inherent in a difficult and troubled love. Beyond that melancholy mood that had been the background to the ever-changing flow of days. Beyond the painful and resigned awareness, the chilling fear and the bewilderment of loss. Far from the discomfort that miraculously ceases to be such.

You pass from the ground of alienation directly to the stage. You abandon the guise of an impassive observer and those of an unfinished character. You return to the scene. You do it as a protagonist this time.

You pass from the closed door of the heart to the open door of the soul. Without running away from something, from someone. Without running away from yourself anymore.

MEMORIES IN THE BOOK

I always put my memories in books, like that flower picked up from the ground that evening in the park, and when they stand out without having memory of them I smile, but those smiles so bitter and beautiful that they crumple all my thoughts, crush them in a corner and remind me that there are times when I was really happy. I close my eyes and think that sometimes I have good ideas too.
It wasn’t spring or even summer, it was a season that was a bit like that, meaningless. Dry branches to be cut, weeds to be eradicated, flowerbeds to be arranged, arid earth to be watered. But there was the sun, a warm sun. And so much time available, she thought of the patience gained waiting for the flow of life, that melancholy dress so tight it took her breath away, but so alive. It was only a season, a long and slow season, and maybe it was right, after all, everything has a time, sooner or later spring would come.
We mark the time, in minutes, hours, days, months and years, and at the beginning of each of these we hope for a better day, a better year, we are convinced that that number that changes at the end of a date really means something. In this way we remember blocks of time in single memories, the days pass and we do not even realize it, another year is about to end by luck or with reluctance but our thoughts always go to that unaware tomorrow whose face we do not know. , we make good resolutions, imagine beautiful things and make many promises but who really knows if at the end of the next last midnight we would have kept them all? It’s all a question mark but this fascinates us even if it doesn’t change anything, even if things go wrong we always see that light of hope in things. Each year is special and leaves something inside us, this year I have learned many thingsā€¦. I learned not to be under any illusions, not to believe in promises, not to imagine that things will get better, not to take anything for granted not even time because nobody gives it back to us, I learned not to trust, not to give hundreds of possibilities, not to believe sincere words and lying eyes, I learned not to put too much heart into things and finally I learned that despite all this hope in something good, every day motivates us to live every good or bad moment.

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