resignation
can't help it, have to translate this. to the autor: forgive me the crappy translation.
we live a kind of lethal death: when we lose someone's friendship, or love, and the years go by and those things do never come back. it has, in a way, death's tactical accuracy: it is not mentioned, smells are but memories. and it's rhythm is a forgotten one: there was, once, a time when we did some things with those people. it remains, however, a fundamental difference from the "official" death: the other one - a friend, a mother, a brother (a lover) - is still among the living, and that takes from us the only relief time can ever give: resignation.
by filipe nunes vicente, in the blog mar salgado, who's been writing for several months the best series of posts in the portuguese blog universe, odi et amo.
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