few days ago I came home with the strange feeling that every time I leave something in the days that pass. I remembered sitting on the edge of my bed still wet hair after a shower, which many years ago I played better today arc. Inevitably, I thought. But is this memory nostalgia or melancholy? Is there a difference? Nostalgia seems to be the impossible desire to go back. What melancholy? Perhaps rather be thrown into our nearest future, which gives us the indelible experience that things are born and die, our own death. With its mordant silence seems to offer the delicate appearance of events, radically finite events that inevitably emerge to disappear. Thus, this provision perhaps gives us greater sensitivity to notice the fleeting moment that the sun rises then falls, that this joy will soon be gone, that person is now close in your arms will inevitably die. And ultimately, if not, what difference would we? If things were not going to disappear do we care? Kika died recently. Inevitable event that enveloped her figure all that was appreciated, his death, always waiting, transformed into something that mattered to me and now I remember. Then, experience the fleeting moment, open to the crushing silence that accompanies us as better suited to us (die I personally have ever told a teacher) may be open to a deeper intuition of time. And remember, when it was good for the arch, with a sweet and melancholy tinkling of death. Luis Felipe Oyarzun
mountains 
