Chapter 4. The TIrade

In that particular morning, there were some sort of feelings or vibes that to some extent radiated, a certain sadness or nostalgia for things and people that were no longer here on this earthly plane. There was a lot of fog in the city, the temperature had dropped quite a bit. Nobody conceived the idea of going out without any kind of coat. There was no sun, the clouds covered everything. The clouds had taken over the heat, and the joy that the sun's rays give when they come through your window, and caress your face, letting you know that a new day has arrived; now there was none of that…

On the news they were saying that cold fronts were approaching and that everyone should keep their precautions in the days to come. Not even the singing of a single bird was heard, nor any chicken cackling. It was 7 in the morning when Juan got up, ready to fulfill everything he wanted to do that day. Getting out of bed, he noticed that he had several messages from his girlfriend, even a couple of missed calls... It was possible to feel the anguish and fear that had possessed her that stormy night…

“Of course honey, of course we can talk. Remember that I will always be there for you. "Do you want to meet at our park?" That was what he answered, at the same time that a feeling of sadness and guilt was present in his being since he had not heard the notifications. Dear reader, as you may have noticed, he wrote "our park", and it is precisely that, in that city, there is a park called "Parque La Pinera", but among the inhabitants of that municipality, it is commonly named as "La Pinera ". It was in that precise place, where they had spent the best moments together, where they both realized that, although it is not that one needed the other per se, but both noticed that their hearts already belonged to the other; Juan's heart no longer beat for himself, now it beat for her, and Margarita's heart beat for him. It was in that park, where they both decided to be together, where all the promises of love, loyalty, and trust took place in their hearts, while these were written by the same angels in the brightest places in the firmament.

He decidedly went out to buy his coffee that morning of November 26, it was part of his morning ritual, he said that a good coffee was what brought joy to the days, it was like a hug to the soul. So, while he wandered through the streets of his city, on his way to the cafeteria, he kept wondering if he would meet that gentleman with whom he had a pleasant conversation the night before. "Will he be around?" “Well, if I see him again, I'm going to buy him another coffee and bread. He seems to be a good guy, besides, my grandmother used to say that as long as you have a way to provide food for someone, you should do it” Juan thought.
Upon reaching that place, he realized that Pedro was not there. A slight feeling between sadness and disappointment manifested in his heart. This time he preferred to drink his coffee and eat his bread in a small square that was there. It was probably only a matter of minutes before Juan could see in the distance that that man was almost at the other end, so he grabbed his coffee, and instead of going directly to him, he went first to buy him some bread and coffee...

— “Hello! Good morning Pedro. Look what I bought, a coffee and some bread” This was the first thing Juan said as he approached to Pedro.

— “Oooh hello young man! Thank you for the detail”

They both started talking mostly about how particularly sad and even desolate she looked that particular morning; then they began to talk about other trivialities that at this precise moment do not concern us, because they do not represent a major interest.
After half an hour, or maybe 40 minutes, they started talking about things that are more intriguing, deep, and to some extent, complicated for man to understand. For questions such as: What is the meaning of life? To what extent is it healthy or "good" to be selfish? What is the greater purpose of being alive? Live for oneself, or live for our peers? What is love? ... Those were some of the questions that arose from that conversation between that young man and that older adult. It was the perfect contrast of the stages of life, the young man with his restless spirit to discover the world, walk through each of the corridors that exist, and explore each corner of the planet; on the other hand, a man who had already walked several paths, who had already experienced the sweetness of youth, as well as the bitterness that, to a certain extent, is inherent in life…

“Ooh boy, life acts in mysterious ways, sometimes it acts in ways that are incomprehensible to the human eye and reason. But it is in those moments, where the magic of life is brewing, where there is nothing left but to feel it. Sometimes we focus a lot on thinking about the why of things, or why, when, sometimes it's just a matter of feeling them, because only then will we be able to live every moment, every laugh, every hug, every show of affection, no matter how simple or small it may seem. But also, only in this way, can we truly feel each tear, each sob, each discomfort in the heart or in the soul. Through the years, I have realized that one wastes a lot of time thinking about what will come tomorrow, but we do not value our present, we do not give importance to the people we have today, nor to the things that surround us, we lose ourselves. in the abyss thinking that they will always be there with us; but when we blink, and it's already morning, we realize that some people may not be with us anymore, and we didn't know how to value them, and now every "I love you", "you're important to me", is nothing more than prisoners of a heart that fell asleep, and of a mind that worried more thinking about the future... That is why, if at any given moment, you feel something for someone, do not keep it, say it, express it- Perhaps that future you are hoping for will never come, and you will always live thinking, 'I would have told him...' 'I would have given him that hug...’” … was one of the two reflections or advice that Pedro gave him that November 26.

— “Why your insistence on knowing what love is, boy?” Look… “Love must escape and free itself from what attempts to become its own cell, called "rationality."

When love is subordinated, to what "my mind tells me", in order to be able to feel "good", that could be anything, but ultimately it is not, and cannot be love, even so, a thousand are being used masks, and a thousand new labels, because its essence is false…

I dare to say that love, true love; not the one that is sold to us today through globalization, that uses cinema and television as its mercenaries, or perhaps as street vendors in the plaza del tariacuri, that all they do is sell or try to usurp what love means. Therefore, love should not, or rather, it is necessary on my part to say that it should not, for any reason, find any contradiction in itself, much less be capable of engendering any type of dialectic, not because it cannot, because love can do everything because that which is infinite will always be superior to the finite, therefore, it will be improbable that, from love itself and pure, any type of dialectic is engendered.

That human being who truly loves is capable of devoting himself in passion for his muse…

“Neither all the love nor all the money” they say it out there…. How to put or compare something infinite with something finite? In short, the position in which love has been placed is already self-evident, and consequently that human being who, in the active action of love, must be called a poet. What do I mean by this? Very simple, I do not accept, and I even categorically deny such a thing like that… So, why ration something as beautiful and wonderful as love itself? Because one can get hurt? Humbug! There will be no human being that can escape time because each day that passes is a day that no longer belongs to us because we have given it to death. That is why, if I have to die, I will do it through the beautiful pure passion that is immersed in love, since there cannot be love and fear in the same room, or love dies, or fear perishes; Personally, I prefer that love be what triumphs…

I'm afraid to show what I feel" I totally understand this, totally. The society in which we live, unfortunately, has led us to put on masks, but it is in the feelings where the beauty that is in each one of us resides and is born, that is why, if you have to show love for someone, you will have to do it well, head on, and firmly, leaving fear out; Of course, we must be aware of what this implies...

A damn the time when capitalism arrived! When did we become shelf products? Is that called love? To hell with every one of the flirt or love gurus! They are only being pimps of love, they are politicizing the most beautiful thing that can exist, politics is ephemeral, vulgar, and above all finite when it is next to love because the master is sublime, elegant, and even more important, he is and it will always be infinite… Why treat love as if it were something that is at the mercy of capitalism? That is to say, unfortunate are those people who are capable of reducing human relationships to "supply and demand", and even worse if they are two individuals who love each other, and who, therefore, their souls fight against those contradictions and limitations of social context and the time, to be able to merge one with the other.

Fyodor Dostoevsky said it very wisely in the novel "The Brothers Karamazov", “… active love is a harsh and fearful thing compared with the love in dreams. Love in dreams thirsts for immediate action quickly performed and with everyone watching. Indeed, it will go as far as the giving even of one's life, provided it does not take long but is soon over, as on stage, and everyone is looking on and praising. Whereas active love is labor and persistence, and for some people, perhaps, a whole science.”

Or perhaps, for the most adventurous, for the most intrepid, those who enjoy the most sublime and noble expressions of feelings. There is no poetry without a poet, but for there to be a poet, passion is required, for this to happen, the existence of a muse is imperative, and then, only in this way, will poetry be born, otherwise, we will have anything, less passion, and I dare say, there would not be either, gallantry.

Make no mistake, not only poetry would cease to exist, but also music, drawing, and painting, everything that escapes human reason, because as I have previously said, love is not rationalized, love is the value purest turned into passion. It will only be enough to take a look at contemporary trends, Bad Bunny, Featherweight, and among many others, which, if they continue like this, will not even come to comedy. Don't misinterpret my words, everyone is free to do what they please; but in his work the least we have is love, perhaps there is an attraction to money, but the problem is not theirs, because they are also children of the same era as us.

The problem is that love has been annihilated, and anything has been put in its place, which, just like birds of prey, will come to try to scratch at least a little bit of the bone that was left there, that later, that place he will try to be made up with catchy, simple rhymes, with interesting rhythms to a certain extent, but lacking in soul; It will be like a book with empty content, but which enjoys an extraordinary binding for the time, but which, to the eye of the reader, this will not even be worth looking at, while, for that subject who enjoys the touch of a good binding, this will be almost even glorious; That is why we must stop creating "chimeras.”

When he finished listening to how passionately Pedro was showing his feelings through these words, Juan thought for several minutes while he saw nothing and everything at the same time. His phone rang, and it was that same sound that brought him back to the world… “A huge apology Pedro, but I have to go. The truth is, his words left me thinking ”. The boy grabbed his belongings and headed to his park to talk to his girlfriend.
Along the way, he couldn't stop thinking about everything he had heard... There wasn't any doubt, those words had echoed in the depths of his being.