There comes a time when your whole world turns upside down. Your world is experiencing a violent earthquake. After him, you look among the ruins to gather and continue in the conventional direction---forward! You collect the puzzle named after you, piece by piece, moment by moment, stone by stone and sit down. You sit down to line up again. You are required to be precise, careful, accurate, because every incorrectly placed piece reflecting your personality is a pain, tears, memories that end with a sigh instead of your mysterious smile. You line up crookedly. Well done! You look almost believable.


After such a rollover, you are never the same in front of yourself and others. Something in you breaks and breaks, changes drastically and goes to its oblivion. Something in you is born, developed and travels with all its might to your own awareness and wisdom. Awareness and wisdom do not come when you are twenty, much less when you are twenty-five with your nose up. They come after your silences. After the requested silence, in which only you are a friend. They come after two or three live slaps, whose physical pain passes in ten minutes, but you remember the "gesture" of the other for life. They come after you have arranged so carefully what you want to be noticed by those around you that you forgot to hide your sensitivity with which a group of mercantile simpletons play.


Here comes the screening of all kinds of people who look like everyone else, but not themselves. Because they are afraid. There comes the closure in yourself, which brings you relief, both from the steam of the weekdays and from the tossing of envy. They come, like every morning, a pair of pigeons landing on the window of your room to look at you curiously and remind you that you forgot to leave them seeds and crumbs again.


There comes that full moon in which you do not sleep, because you think about the silence of the night, you ask yourself many questions. Questions that no one but you want an immediate answer to. You answer, you cry, but you are clear. A person, the only one close to your essence, comes to tell you that you have left something that makes him think. Finally, it occurs on the toes in the morning. You do not feel like talking. Shut up, at least a year ahead. You make coffee and look at the clock whose hands are flickering forward.


After everything and everyone, after every sadness or joy, you are invariably left alone, faced with a choice: whether to embrace another day of your life, or to miss it. Missed days are not remembered, they pass inexorably and that's it. We only remember those days that managed to excite us beyond the levels of any tolerance, shaking us with the question: "Are you alive, darling? I hug you!" There are days when a hug can save several lives.