Almost

"Still worse that the certainty of not, is the uncertainty of perhaps, is disillusion of almost! It is almost that it bothers me that sadden me that kills me bringing everything what could have been and was not! Who almost earned still plays, who almost passed still studies, who almost loved did not love. It is enough to think about the chances that had escaped through fingers, in the possibilities that had lost from fear, in the ideas that never will leave the paper for this cursed craze of living in the Autumn. I ask myself, sometimes, what it takes us to choose a worm life. The reply I already know, it’s printed in the distance and the coolness of the smiles, in the looseness of the hugs in the indifference of the "good day", almost whispered. Surplus cowardice and even lacks courage to be HAPPY. Passion burns, love goes crazy, desire cheats. Perhaps they were good reasons to decide between the joy and pain. But they are not. If the virtue was same in the half-term, the sea would not have waves, the days would be darkened and the rainbow in ash tones. The nothing does not illuminate, does not inspire, does not afflict or calms, only extends the emptiness that each one brings inside of itself. To prefer the previous defeat the doubt of the victory is to waste the chance to deserve it. For the errors are pardons, for the failures chance, for the impossible loves time. Of nothing it advances to surround an empty heart or to save soul. A romance whose end is instantaneous or painless is not romance. Do not leave homesickness suffocates, that the routine accommodates, that the fear hinders you to try. Distrusts of the destination and it believe itself. Spend more hours to carry through, than to dream... to make than planning... to live, than wait... Because, even so who almost dies is alive, who almost lives already died. "

Luiz Fernando Veríssimo

This time in ingles for those that don’t understand very well Portuguese (“,)