We are all tied to something, he said in my ear that afternoon. Moored to people, objects, thoughts; we live and, well, we die.
Tied to memories, some people forget to live, they lock themselves in that past, imperfect past, in situations that were already and now are no longer. You can not make your present, keep writing your story. It is that knot that forced them to keep the pencil and stole their future. They close their eyes, they do not see what surrounds them. They are clinging to objects, elements that go back to those times.
Do not let life escape, there are no second chances
