A friend posts a video on Facebook.
highlight of a movie scene where he tells her: "This time I wanted to kiss you on the boat."
"Me too." She says.
They kiss.
Life has given to both a second chance.
Nothing original. It was written and narrated by film and literature on the very unspoken words, gestures withheld the regrets that accompany both having the other.
Ok, this is an aspect of history, what could be and was not.
But is not what interests me. To me the scene of the movie did come up with another, opened to the thought all the pieces of life that concerns me and that I'll never know.
How many words were for me is I have been withheld, those gestures that I was delighted I have been denied, what is left inside of me a person without my ever did share?
suddenly appeared to me obvious that a huge injustice, almost unbearable for the damage emotivo che mi ha procurato. È un tesoro che mi è stato celato, nascosto. Una ricchezza che mi avrebbe permesso di camminare con più baldanza tra le strade di questa terra complicata. Una coperta calda ed avvolgente che avrebbe reso più morbide le miei notti, più dolci i miei ricordi, più profondi alcuni legami.
E chi ci ha guadagnato in questo insopportabile silenzio emotivo? Nessuno credo.
E non capisco perché a volte, e sempre che ci dica bene, sia necessario attendere decenni per conoscere una parola, un sentimento, fosse anche un pensiero che non poteva che farci piacere.
Uno strano muro di pudori s’innalza spesso between us and the rest of the world. A shyness that stops beautiful words, loving gestures, confirmations on our quality.
A strange confidence that strikes us, on closer inspection, much more to say on the beautiful rather than ugly, as common sense would appear obvious. And instead due to a strange phenomenon, the bad words, bad deeds, the actions we are rude which is a marvel, fluid and spontaneous. For the rest we are tyrannized by invincible blushes.
be paradoxical us humans.
Last night I asked a friend of mine: Do you like autumn?
"The fall was time of year when planning to visit you. Since then I love this season. "
a trivial question, an answer unexpected emotion donated. This particular
so cute, so tender it remained for decades in the heart of a man to whom they are closely linked. Maybe it was not the occasion to tell me, was probably not essential that I knew it, but if you think about it with me who would share this memory?
And then, but why should he hide it? What is so shameful to say to another person: yes, you account for me? What is this strange shame which assails us in having to admit that the person X has its own niche in our hearts? What's all this barrenness, this emotional sadness?
But there seems folly to think that, without knowing it, we often live parallel lives of thousands in the heart and mind of God knows how many people. Lives in which we continue to exist, nourish and excite.
Ultimately, it is as if there were barred windows behind which we "are" beyond our everyday perception of reality.
Not everything can be told, the secrets have their charm, but I propose a time limit beyond which the right to what belongs to us, because we have provoked, There is in some measure returned, or at least be shared with us.
And just because you think I preach and not practice for several years my philosophy is: No regrets as possible.
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