The entire world is a stranger.

The entire world is a stranger.

A few times, though, anything within its sphere could be a friend - a lady, a woman, some guy, a man that holds a secret in his jeans, a boy showing off his kindness, a movie, a song, a good book, lines from a poetry, a photograph, a painted picture, freshly brewed coffee, smoke rising from the mouth and the nostrils, a glass filled to the rim with beer, bubbles and ice, a box of chocolates, a keyboard, a blue ballpoint pen and a clean paper, a bottle of water, iced tea, cold evening breeze, soft large-sized pillows.

On many different occasions, they step down from their little towers to offer their alliances and their loyalties. But what is this is madness, this monstrosity that prevents one from becoming all too grateful of their acts of kindness?

Perhaps one remembers the magnitude of his loneliness after turning off his lights at night and nothing from his day could accompany him through his hours of sleep – nobody to share the heat under the white sheets, nobody to accept the tenderness and strength of his embrace, no other sound except his own breathing, no beautiful reason why he should linger in bed in the morning.

But one will always live a new string of hours and the previous night’s sad passions will always momentarily melt with the heat of the day.

In this brand new day, the world will, once again, give birth to new acquaintances – a piece of literature sold at a bargain price, a hard to find CD, a pirated DVD copy of an old movie, the undying passions of Neruda, Cummings or Dickinson, funny and sometimes corny vignettes gathered from spending moments with the ladies and the women, a text message from some guy, a meaningful look from a man with a secret, a new box of Marlboro lights, a tall serving of brewed coffee, scoops of ice cream, an email from an old flame, a pen or a keyboard that helps weave words to become phrases, sentences, thoughts.

The world is a kind stranger, a compassionate stranger, and within its sphere is a man and many others – lonely hunters and willing friends who embrace the day but cry silently in the night.



June 11, 2006