Death dominates life. Living is just a concatenation of small deaths that culminates in absolute and irreversible death. It may be something that goes unnoticed, we may not even be aware of it, but we ourselves also die many times over the course of our lives. In twenty years, there won’t be even the slightest vestige of the person we are in the present. Time and experience will erode all our ideas, all our feelings, will deform what we are until we can’t recognize ourselves. But the paths of fate intertwine and sometimes lead us back to where we started and we can talk to the ghosts of what we were. And you take me back to a person I was and loved, whom I tried to save by all means until I had to resign myself to abandon her and let her die. You pronounce her name and talk about the old dreams, the old hopes, promises that she thought had been extinguished in the confusion of the world, to raise her out of her tomb, back to life.
In your eyes I see what I was clearly reflected: I see my own feelings, my own fears, my own pain, my own hopes that you now project in me and to that vision my heart trembles and moves, engendering something new that wants to be born and grow because of the simple tenderness of your love and the loyalty it gives off. Then I think that reality can also be wrong. Maybe I rushed. You are the reason enough to feel an illusion that I never thought I’d feel again, and I strive to remove the soil that buries faith and trust as fast as my hands allow me while I forget the causes of their death. But I buried them many meters under the ground and, although I try to protect you from their transient absence, I don’t always manage to do it. I’m so sorry for you, for not being able to protect you from suffering because of something that is not your fault. However, the desire to protect you is a sign that I care.
There’re so many things I’d like to say to you, but language is so imperfect and limited that it can never accurately express what passes through the vague nebula of my mind. Or maybe I’m just afraid of sounding too strange. In any case, I remain silent and try to discover what is hidden beyond what you let me see, what you keep, what you project, the imprint left on you by the world, the contradictions, the unnecessary complexities, defenses, excuses and conventions that blur what you are ultimately and I seem to glimpse the light of your truth, kind and sensitive. A truth I could love.