"I thought you woudn´t be coming anymore, it was late, I shouldn´t even be there, but suddenly, in the middle of the rain and the cold, you moved towards me, it was your hair, your tone of skin, a hat similar to yours, that covered the nose and the eyes, you moved towards me, in a flagrant diagonal, I jolted, or almost, there wasn´t even time, she lifted her head, she because it wasn´t you, and I turned the other way, ashamed, why the hell did I still think that you would come to me, on the twenty-fifth hour, in the middle of the cold and the rain?
While I am moving away, slowly, I think that during all this time I was like a man who asks God for a sign. A man who believes but cannot take the silence any more, or doesn´t believe and challenges a fictitious god. But this bravado isn´t telling us anything about God. It´s the man that has to come forward. He has to come forward to himself, choosing the life he´s leading. A man is not a divinity: there´s no doubt he exists and there´s no doubt he´ll stop existing soon. We just don´t know if he chooses freedom or despair."
Shameful, painful expectations. I whish I could write like this.
There´s more, here.
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