He won everything he wanted in life, and this was understood enough by everyone who knew him, those who cherish him and those who envied him… but not by him! He wanted more from life, he wanted love and understanding, and light, and quiet.
He have none, always responded to challenges that drove him forward, making it even more cherished, more enviable… Rarely, maybe too rare, he crossed with the light of azure eyes, greenish, or dark as pitch, and then he knew what it lacks.
He din not afford, however, moments of weakness, he displayed a detached air, or, where appropriate, a tough one… In a pantry where it always enters only, completely devoid of furniture, he put a ceramic bowl, covered with a lid.A wise man, which he visited many years ago, told him that he went to that boat whenever he felt unfulfilled, anxious or when the lights of those eyes poisoned him … azure eyes, or green, or dark as pitch. Raised the cap and collected there his tears of fulfillment. Then he locked the pantry door and appeared again with the air of an accomplished man, with a harsh, inflexible look.
“When you count the bowl is full, go and wash your face with the liquor of the tears collected there. Then your suffering will be over!” The wise man told him.
Reached full maturity, he felt once again into the trap of the lights of a pair of eyes, hoping that he will be caressed by the silk of the blonde strands. He knew that her hopes are vain; another was his destiny, and for what he wanted he could not exude kindness and light; he was struggling, but he was more scary this way…
Tired of so many failures, he went and unlocked the pantry; he thought it was his last chance. Raised the lid and of the urn and sunk his hands in what was believed to be his crystal clear tears. But when he hands out, they were stained with a black, coarse ash, that filling the bowl.
Puzzled, then angered, he slammed the urn with the foot, and the shards, mixed with the black, coarse ash, were hitting the pantry walls. His ardent eyes glittered by the madness of the lost hopes, his mouth askew in a rictus of ruthless, and he went to conquer the world … He left the unlocked the door of the pantry where were lying, scattered, the shards of a ceramic urn damped by a clear but too long stagnant water…
(Translated from aMorale, by Marius Cilibia)