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Again, I am sitting here, staring at the multicolored glass, pressing on plastic keys, which unearth orgies of emotions and turbulent hurricanes of thoughts. My life has been reduced to pressing on keys, lifting pieces of iron and picking strings. Day after day these three activities seem to satisfy my physical and mental needs. My heart has already been hardened, like the tips of my left-hand fingers, roughly mistreated by the strings of my eternal love.

But sometimes... not very often, I go outside of my life, and there I can find all the sweepings that I threw out of it, which sometimes I have no idea why I threw out in the first place. I can find teddy bears, cars, friends, past loves, past hatreds, trips to the countryside, mountains under my feet, ocean waves splashing my back, among many other things... There are so many sweepings that I threw out of my life, that another people started to pick them up and take them away. Every day I can see more than one, taking what once was mine, and which at a certain point in my life I decided that I didn't want or that I didn't need.

What's going to happen when they take all the sweepings that I threw out of my life? I became so self-absorbed trying to have a lean, sweepings-free life that I never even thought about recycling. Now my life has become minimalist to say the least. In every day that I forget, I press on plastic keys, I lift pieces of iron, and I pick strings; but the few days that I remember are those when I go outside of my life and I start sniffing through my sweepings.

One day I even ran after a man who was trying to take one of my trips to the mountain!! Who the hell does he think he is??? Does he think he can come just like that and take peoples' sweepings? "But if this is garbage!!" he said to me as I held him by his jacket. "But it is MY garbage!" I desperately replied back, realizing that he had a valid point "... and it stays here with me" I concluded. In spite of all, I had already thrown it out of my life, and therefore, I must have considered it garbage. "As you wish" he said to me, while he fixed his sleeve, "But if you leave it there for too long, there is no doubt that somebody is going to take it away". As he said that he walked away, and I stood there, with my trip to the mountain in between my hands. I started to imagine how his life would be, flooded with events and things that sometimes belonged to other people, and from that, by wandering around other people's lives, he would build his own. I must confess that for a moment I had a strong desire to copy him, to move away from my life and to start wandering by others' life-sweepings, gathering the best pieces, rejected by others like me. But soon I realized of something quite important, which painted a smile in my eyes instantaneously. I don't need to be sniffing around other people's sweepings if I have so many wonderful sweepings in my own space; so many sweepings that I still protect, although most of the time they are outside of my life, forgotten. I returned then and I started to organize my sweepings carefully. I separated them in four categories: ' Unforgettable, 'Memorable", 'Painful', and 'Sweepings". When I finished categorizing, I realized that I had to eliminate one category, because there was nothing in the 'Sweepings' section.

Texto agregado el 27-07-2005, y leído por 209 visitantes. (2 votos)


Lectores Opinan
18-08-2005 exelente compadre, que buena narracion y por sobre todo, que buena reflexion wMALDITOw
 
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