Benjamín Griss

If you need to cry, cry. Do not hold all that ocean inside. Take a deep breath and find in the background the reasons why you keep trying to get out of Rome. Not all deserve to be memories, some deserve to be more than ghosts that time sweeps at their pace and takes them to the dusty corner of the universe.

I want to dedicate these words to those beings who do not find their place in the world, who not even a hug can shake the snow, the cold and the loneliness they carry on the edge of their life. I want to tell you that, the moment you stand in front of the window looking at the distance, someone on the other side of the world, also thinks that you are beautiful. Beautiful to your measure, complexion and smile.

You are not at all dark, as the moon is not all light time. Sometimes it is hidden, there is no trace of where it was the previous nights, where is it? Who thinks when the sky misses it? Even on bad days, the sun rises. So do not stop, follow the rhythm of things that are meaningless, build a home in the dimple of the smile that makes up the days.

Be speed, danger and salvation, but do not ever die as long as the song continues to play in the background. I wonder how many times I had to flee a funeral, how many times the pain overcame me when I was in an immortal struggle with myself, how many times the sunset smiled at me while I watched the disaster in which I was happy, how many times did I have to throw the same stone so that a single person would stumble in my path and that, as a result, flashes of light would emerge; how many times did I have to let go of a hand to love me, otherwise, holding on would have meant being aware of the stab wounds.

To thank all those who saw me burn while others slept, those who saw me bleed while others slept, those who embraced each broken part to find a sense, a form and a motive to smile, while others slept < / p>

If you need to laugh, laugh. What does it matter if they hurt you in the past, now that is a dead place from which no rose can bloom. He laughs like a madman, like a madman who has found the secret to be happy, as an irreversible maniac who urgently seeks to travel the world and discover new experiences.

Sal, run naked at midnight, stray remorse and hatred, slip into the mouths of those who speak snakes of you, fuck in the kitchen, on the couch, in the garden, but do not be sad for people you can not change. It's your book, your story, your characters, your points, your commas, your pages. It's you who writes. And I recommend you write a story that no one can ever go to the big screen, because it's too much. Too real and indestructible you.

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