The cell phone rings, you check it; and it is the call of a future encounter. By hanging you feel the emptiness of goodbye. At the moment where silence serves as an accomplice to the restlessness, to discouragement, to the cry that is naturalized. It is not about Daniel’s exaggeration, nor the grace of Juan Pablo. It’s a farewell call.
The forgetfulness when it hits, brings us back to reason. Forgetfulness loses its gaps and shadows. Decisions to want to leave become more aware of their whys; remember that it is a flight, a farewell of guilty and victimizers, within the framework of a bloody nation. A town that has a government as an enemy. A town that has new grandchildren without spins, without parrots, without metras, and without cronies. That he has new children with the feeling of a crowded country.
The contradictions of the migrant in a country that dies and becomes nostalgic, and another that is born and becomes hope, without death means resignation to live again.
Societies do not die, but spirits do. The pain can become so strong that when we are defeated, we stop believing. But at that moment, in another place, and without limits, have been conceived a thousand acts of kindness, hundreds of hugs. There are millions of men and women believing in hope. There are millions of people who are dreaming as much as possible. – Can silence be the beginning of the end or the doors to the funeral? We are all responsible for that. Whoever it is, wherever you are.
When courage dies, the spirit locks in depressed. Selfishness becomes act in disbelief. The incrimination becomes garbage when it betrays solidarity. The dream when you have distrust becomes the place where the soul ages. Where the bodies walk without the mind, and the mind perishes in the indignity. But, in which, paradoxically, there is an opportunity, because we can always help to build it.
We can be afraid and suffer, but when we return; we can turn discouragement into force. It depends on how we are, and who embraces us. The hegemonic of evil is done when we stop being a country.
Let’s paint the steps and arms crossed. Let’s paint the traces of faith and the path of freedom.
Written by Jhon A. Romero.-