Even worse than the conviction of no and the uncertainty of perhaps is the almost one's disappointment. It's almost that bothers me, that saddens me, that kills me bringing everything that could have been and was not. Who almost won still plays, who almost passed still studies, who almost died is alive, who almost loved did not love. Just think of the opportunities that escaped the fingers, the chances that get lost out of fear, the ideas that will never get off the paper because of that damn craze of living in the fall.

Sometimes I ask myself what leads us to choose a warm life; or rather I do not ask myself, I answer. The answer I know in color is in the distance and coldness of the smiles, in the laxity of the hugs, in the indifference of the "good morning," almost whispered. There is no more cowardice and lacking the courage to be happy. Passion burns, love goes mad, desire betrays. Maybe these were good reasons to decide between joy and pain, feeling nothing, but they are not. If virtue were really in the middle, the sea would have no waves, the days would be overcast, and the rainbow would be gray. Nothingness does not illuminate, it does not inspire, it does not afflict or calms, it only widens the emptiness that each one brings within oneself.

It is not that faith moves mountains, nor that all stars are within reach, for things that can not be changed, we have only patience, but to prefer the previous defeat to the doubt of victory is to miss the opportunity to merit. Pros errors are forgiveness; pros failures, chance; for impossible loves, time. Surrounding an empty heart or saving soul. A novel whose end is instant or painless is not romance. Do not let the longing suffocate, let the routine settle, let the fear stop you from trying. Be wary of fate and believe in yourself. Spend more hours performing than dreaming, doing that by planning, living than waiting for, although who almost dies is alive, those who almost live have already died.