I realize among clashes that life is made of sudden emergencies, many of them without any apparent explanation. Haste is the enemy of well-being, calm, and quiet.
Is it significant to get home 5 minutes later? It is perhaps less a piece of laundry to pass, or a table to clean. Slaves of almost traumatic stress, we are almost obsessed with perfection. The shadows do not stop to think, this stop can be traumatizing when we opt for the worst way, almost always the easy way. It was on one of those trips to the feelings that I remembered that I want to be happy again. In the past I was almost vulgarized by a poetic, romantic paper of difficult writing when you are only 10 years old, I swore that I would always keep this small piece of paper along with my stuff.
A short time later, when I went back to reading school books, scratched notebooks, stickers, and put on this almost innocent piece of paper sent by an 8-year-old girl in a colorful kilt, tied braids, and a sweet smile of youthful prank . It was one of those immense smiles that one day captivated me, it was a flower that was born in my garden (sounds my pimba, but it's true), the first blink of an eye at the first kiss was almost an eternity.
I was shy enough to say that I did not like her, and that Bate-Foot game had little meaning to me then. With her air of extrovert that girl was the first passion of my life, maybe at this point in life the passions and loves are more innocent and stronger.
Curiously in the pictures of the class we were always separated physically, I knew that I could not get close to her because to that my stupid shyness had forced me. I knew that one day while reading that note, it would give me moments of sentimental nostalgia like the one I've lived now.
@CarlosMartins