Ainda pior que a convicção do não, e a incerteza do talvez, é a desilusão de um quase. É o quase que me incomoda, que me entristece, que me mata trazendo tudo que poderia ter sido e não foi.
Quem quase ganhou ainda joga, quem quase passou ainda estuda, quem quase morreu está vivo, quem quase amou não amou.
Basta pensar nas oportunidades que escaparam pelos dedos, nas chances que se perdem por medo, nas ideias que nunca sairão do papel por essa maldita mania de viver no outono.
Pergunto-me, às vezes, o que nos leva a escolher uma vida morna; ou melhor não me pergunto, contesto. A resposta eu sei de cor, está estampada na distância e frieza dos sorrisos, na frouxidão dos abraços, na indiferença dos "Bom dia", quase que sussurrados.
Sobra covardia e falta coragem até pra ser feliz. A paixão queima, o amor enlouquece, o desejo trai. Talvez esses fossem bons motivos para decidir entre a alegria e a dor, sentir o nada, mas não são.
Se a virtude estivesse mesmo no meio termo, o mar não teria ondas, os dias seriam nublados e o arco-íris em tons de cinza. O nada não ilumina, não inspira, não aflige nem acalma, apenas amplia o vazio que cada um traz dentro de si.
Não é que fé mova montanhas, nem que todas as estrelas estejam ao alcance, para as coisas que não podem ser mudadas, resta-nos somente paciência. Porém, preferir a derrota prévia à dúvida da vitória é desperdiçar a oportunidade de merecer.
Pros erros há perdão; pros fracassos, chance; pros amores impossíveis, tempo. De nada adianta cercar um coração vazio ou economizar alma. Um romance cujo fim é instantâneo ou indolor não é romance.
Não deixe que a saudade sufoque, que a rotina acomode, que o medo impeça de tentar. Desconfie do destino e acredite em você. Gaste mais horas realizando que sonhando, fazendo que planejando, vivendo que esperando porque, embora quem quase morre esteja vivo, quem quase vive já morreu.
Luis Fernando Veríssimo
ALMOST
Even worse than the conviction of not, and perhaps uncertainty, is almost a disappointment.It's almost that bothers me, which saddens me, kills me bringing anything that could have been but never was.
Who still plays almost won, who almost went further studies, who almost died is still alive, who almost loved did not love.
Just think of the opportunities that slipped through his fingers, the chances for fear that if they lose in the ideas that never leave the paper because this damn habit of living in the fall.
I wonder sometimes what makes us choose a lukewarm life, or better not to ask myself, contest. The answer I know color is molded into the distance and coldness of smiles, hugs the looseness, the indifference of the "Good morning," almost whispered.
Leftover cowardice and lack the courage to be happy to. The passion burning, love maddens, betrays the desire. Perhaps these were good reasons to decide between joy and pain, to feel anything, but are not.
If virtue even in the middle ground, the sea would not have waves, the days were cloudy and the rainbow in shades of gray. Nothingness does not light, does not inspire, calm or does not afflict only amplifies the emptiness that each one carries within himself.
Not that faith moves mountains, or that all stars are within reach for things that can not be changed, we are left with only patience. However, prior to prefer defeat to victory is sure to waste the opportunity to earn.
Pros errors there is forgiveness; pros failures, chance; pros impossible love, time. It does not help to surround an empty heart or save souls. A novel whose ending is instantaneous or painless is not novel.
Do not let the nostalgia choke, which accommodates the routine, that fear stop you from trying. Be wary of destiny and believe in you. Spend more time realizing that dream, making planning, expecting to live because of who dies almost alive, who live almost dead.
Luis Fernando Verissimo
Who still plays almost won, who almost went further studies, who almost died is still alive, who almost loved did not love.
Just think of the opportunities that slipped through his fingers, the chances for fear that if they lose in the ideas that never leave the paper because this damn habit of living in the fall.
I wonder sometimes what makes us choose a lukewarm life, or better not to ask myself, contest. The answer I know color is molded into the distance and coldness of smiles, hugs the looseness, the indifference of the "Good morning," almost whispered.
Leftover cowardice and lack the courage to be happy to. The passion burning, love maddens, betrays the desire. Perhaps these were good reasons to decide between joy and pain, to feel anything, but are not.
If virtue even in the middle ground, the sea would not have waves, the days were cloudy and the rainbow in shades of gray. Nothingness does not light, does not inspire, calm or does not afflict only amplifies the emptiness that each one carries within himself.
Not that faith moves mountains, or that all stars are within reach for things that can not be changed, we are left with only patience. However, prior to prefer defeat to victory is sure to waste the opportunity to earn.
Pros errors there is forgiveness; pros failures, chance; pros impossible love, time. It does not help to surround an empty heart or save souls. A novel whose ending is instantaneous or painless is not novel.
Do not let the nostalgia choke, which accommodates the routine, that fear stop you from trying. Be wary of destiny and believe in you. Spend more time realizing that dream, making planning, expecting to live because of who dies almost alive, who live almost dead.
Luis Fernando Verissimo