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So strange. Small everything it is, and for many years it was a small world between the two. What kind of love? As in love? As in friendship? As in forced? As in destiny? Who knows. After like a hundred years of marriage the single life before seems just like a vanishing dream I had several days ago; an illusion; it never really happened.
A small car and some pictures that bring memories of a time of illusion that happened before the actual pictures. Before we were two in a small world that existed as in no more than ten blocks around. That’s how it started. The picture below reflects that time already gone.
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Like a mirage in the desert sand, the paved road ahead is really an extremely bumpy road, no matter which one we choose. And it is true; it is said in extreme situations is when you know who your real friends are. It can be applied to marriage too. Funny when we start to compare the marriage state with earthquakes, big storms and tsunamis. The peaceful life of a neighborhood could be seen as the collection of storms in every house; you just need especial thinking glasses to see it.
From the representative image of a small car that is still around, to the latest acquired balance that will last for who knows how long, before the continuous storm break it apart, and a new balance will have to be found. Something people call “maturing”, I guess.
Time flies, and it was just yesterday when we were bored to death not knowing what to do and not having anything to do, because we couldn’t see; although our parents did have many suggestions from their perception, that fell outside our mind visual scope because we were children. In time units it seems it was just yesterday; in memory units it seems just another dream that never really happened. It was so long ago!
Bumpy roads. Quiet storms one after another. Finding the balance over and over again. In that little but expanding world from the picture above. Two in the solitary road of personal relationships, while surrounded by the effervescent city life of references, images of material desire and their social pressure; how things “suppose to be”, rather than finding the personal balance that is the only one that will ever work. But that implies change, and change is always painful.
But time is the only constant in the game. It will march, no matter what. So like children so immerse in the game that didn’t realize the pass of time, the wading through the storms while traveling the bumpy roads doesn’t allow to perceive the passing of time.
And then they were three…
Carrying the Precious Gift through the storms; trying to remain standing as a whole, while feeling the beating of the never ending storms, that always tend to wear out hearts and souls. We mature they say. They even invented pain killers like the phrase “The golden age”; who knows. Finding a new balance again, until the next storm. And then the feelings as the sailor holding tight to the mast so not to be blown away by the storm, yet so tired after time the uncanny thoughts of once and for all simply and finally let go. To the unknown.
But two plus one will always be three, so challenging the rules of math cannot be done. A new balance has to be found; and so now outside the little world, when sunny moments happen to be in between the storms, the Golden Age balance has to be created, with the hopes the mast of a long time ago promise will hold in place, while the hands will never let go.
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Perhaps is the Precious Gift received; perhaps is the mast of the promise of long time ago; perhaps is the feelings that will always be there, as the hands that never let go; or even perhaps the fear to the unknown. But in those moments of balance under the sun the smile returns together with the hopes, and holding hands we stand to watch the eternal clock keep ticking away and see what calendar we are in, as they always fly away with the storms.
Maybe like wine; when proper care has been taken it can become something unique and outstanding; but if no care is given it can simply spoil to become nothing to be proud of. When will be the final storm? So we can find the last balance and sail away to the sunset together, with only memories of the bumpy roads; keeping the Precious Gift in our hearts and ingrained in our souls.
Like in math, two plus one will always be three, no matter what.
Raul
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