uninspired philosophical, but full of desire to let out all the repressed emotions I find myself faced with the keyboard today face to face. Perhaps I should start quoting Fontanarrosa when he says "fuck you read this." Fucking really is, and he calls and hoping to touch, to hurt, to move him something inside that makes you go the story. But I have so many claims. After all, do not expect many people read what I have to say.
Anyway, the end of the day continues to be a great way to start a story. However, I must be honest, I just wanted to start this story with a "fucking" to avoid facing the real reason. But maybe I'll find an excuse to try to explain it ... the truth is that today I sit down to write, not infrequently motivated by nostalgia and why not, for solitude. Because these are the times when the hunter who thought he had left behind, suddenly appears and takes care of me. These are difficult times and strange, but I reminded that I am alive. Remind me and I still feel good things (hopefully for real) life. But today is different because I do not see the dark side as the abyss of evil. I see it as something necessary, something that is part of me and without which there would be nothing I am. One thing I injected a little reality in the blood, direct and stark reality but effective that keeps me going. Because I know very well that the hunter is still part of me, as I said to Huxley "Facts Do Not Cease To Exist Because They Are Ignored." It is the black side I learned to see myself, but the most important thing and perhaps only recently understood is that it is just the human side. 
Nostalgia if, in the end that no living human has ever felt that?. Better yet ... who has not ever felt that perhaps does not deserve to be called human. But in the end nostalgia or melancholy ... in English closest thing to what the Brazilians call "Saudade." Nostalgia should be explained to justify the presence of the hunter and clear to continue with the story. Strangely, this nostalgia is intimately connected with fear. Is different from the others. Usually homesickness when away from something that is wanted or desired. But it is really new for me the feeling of longing for something and at the same time being assaulted by the fear of losing. Not sure how to explain it, but now I see better, this kind of nostalgia has a home. Has its own name. Neruda said it well, is that "butterfly that looks like my soul ... and (is) like the word melancholy." The worst thing is that there is a clear reason why ... just there, at a time when these quiet and satisfied with your monotonous life miserable and the next, something happens and the bowels begin to become butterflies and fly inside. The next time you start to say and write things you never imagined you opened and at least realize you're feeling a piece of your life has left you, to mix and hiding inside another person. Nostalgia and melancholy are, of course, when that piece of you is out of reach, and you have a desperate need and have it close again. And that's not surprising to understand why the fear assaults. It's not just the fear of losing that piece, and extracorporeal. Such a conjunction of many other fears that come at the same time to try to rescue the body and mind already committed. As the last hope of salvation that reminds us what we expected. But unconsciousness is the villain in between that makes what we feel. Bien also said Umberto Eco, and I guess you're right, "we fell in love we fell in love, we fell in love at that time we had a desperate need for love. " If the need is desperate, perhaps it is better to give that matter the way, the result can be sublime. After all we are children of the need modeled by a high dose of luck. Well, come what it has to come, and to suffer what we have to suffer. Because this suffering, like all great suffering will one day be remembered with joy. With the joy of knowing that we go through the most difficult things that you can overcome the biggest obstacles. No matter what the future is uncertain. Because, as one friend told me the single life is divided in two moments of joy and moments of suffering. And as expected after the moments of suffering can only come moments of joy. and that after all we are still human. 
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