Sometimes distance is just a geographical issue. Love and affection, when authentic, make mileage useless.
It doesn’t matter who. Each has his own way of feeling it, of being free and of healing, at certain times suffering is widespread. Other times, the pain is in us and we don’t know exactly where. Even with MRI, we can’t map the disease at home. No matter how it manifests, it hurts, it hurts.
- Saudade.
- Such is the intensity and devastation that causes us to pain.
- Looks like a whirlwind.
- Tears and blows everything up.
- Leaving us arid.
- Tormenting us?.
- Takes us away from the plumb.
- From the ground.
- From friends.
- From life; tears us apart and tears us inside and out.
- It’s printed and written on the forehead.
Home health almost drives us crazy and we think there will never be a recovery or a return to normal. It hurts to realize that time dissolves characteristics and memories, it hurts to have no one to wait for. Silent, silent kisses that reveal secrets hurt, the empty, lonely embrace hurts. Make a gift ofspoken and unspoken love, it hurts everything.
Do we remember situations, gestures, split lines? However, the feeling of being with your loved one that one does not see, since desire is also on the skin, in touch, in contact?The prints, the marks of the person were tattooed and impregnated in us. They are in all our being, reflecting the impossible realization of remembrance.
Desire for dreamy, planned, bliss, shared things; of the genuine will that arose whenever the encounter was imminent; The ability to convey and bring the best to your loved one’s smell, voice, open and sweet smile, caresses and dull eyes. I miss those wonderful afternoons that never come back, that gradually lose color and meaning.
Doesn’t the comfort of friends help you, don’t you want to be distracted, pretend that the feeling doesn’t exist, put your head to work until you’re exhausted, travel?There’s no solution. The desire is still there, inseparable, sticky, irreducible and latent, it hurts, like a callus tight by the pointed shoe, it is unbearable!We try to bring back to the present past and kept in memory, some clear and close, others already decaying. Is it the will to revive them, without spaces, without interruptions? But who says we did it?