103 razones para llorar...

[fragmentos]

There comes a time when you have to stop believing in the men you read in your 20s. Miller, Hemingway, Fante, Bukowski —strong writers, bad with women. Not role models.

You have to confront the cowardice within you that says hold out for the person that can save you from yourself. That person isn’t out there. There isn’t anyone who can do that. It’s better to make the decision to stay and love someone. About all I can hope for in life is that the people I love know that I love them. That I’m doing all I can to treat people as well as I can. The noble struggle is to find a way to love someone. To really love someone. To get beyond yourself far enough that you can actually care about another person more than you care about yourself. Once you do that you can start building something beyond your own selfish life.

It’s trite to say love keeps us together, but it’s also true. Without it I don’t think we would have any order in our lives. Families couldn’t exist. It works like a binding agent, keeps men at home, distinguishes us from animals.

(...)

I’ve spoken with a lot of men older than me who say you don’t know meaning in your life until you have your first child. We wait until we’re older to get married and start families. That gives us men more years to act like dogs—we can always get married when we’re 35. But setting an age when you’re going to be “ready” is also another way of saying you don’t want to grow up until you decide it’s time. All through my 20s, when people would ask me why I wasn’t married yet, I would say “I’m not ready. I don’t see myself getting married until I’m 35.” It’s a terribly unromantic way to live. It’s limiting. I’m done with that.

http://thoughtcatalog.com/2011/the-fair-has-to-end-some-time/

Que la violencia no incite la violencia.
Que justicia no signifique seguir matando.

Gracias a la vida,

que nos mantiene vivos.