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Prudencia

Sería prudente no enamorarse de las mujeres rusas, decía la tentadora provocación de esta mañana...

Prudente también sería no haber vivido. Prudente sería no haber sentido ese fuego en sus ojos, prudente no entender la vida en un segundo de sus labios, prudente no extraviarse en su intensidad irresistiblemente irresponsable. Prudente no sentirla, no olerla, y no haber experimentado ni un momento de su éxtasis. Definitivamente hubiera sido prudente no fiarse de nadie con esas piernas, nunca creer en la brujería que encierra su mirada, ni encontrar  fuentes en cada espacio de su ser. Prudente sería entonces negar el milagro de respirar, la magia que ella puede provocar al sentir, la furia con la que puede explotar. Negar la dicha de su imprudencia es negarse a la experiencia de estar vivo, de entender el universo en lo profundo de su alma y no sentirse miserable bajo la tristeza de su llanto. Una experiencia totalmente imprudente que recomiendo para entender de lo que trata la vida.

Y si, las series son sabiduría.

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Dear JC, It's peculiar, isn't it, how the mind clings to memories, especially those we wish to forget? Some nights, I find myself ensnared in a web of dreams, each thread woven with echoes of you. You, who dominated my thoughts, still reign in the kingdom of my nighttime musings. I remember, with an unsettling clarity, every encounter, every word, and every smirk. The way your laughter would echo down hallways, a haunting melody that played on all my strings. The cold glint in your eyes as you found new ways to assert your dominance, your power, unyielding and absolute. In these dreams, I revisit those days, each detail meticulously preserved in the museum of my mind. The corridors, once mundane, now seem like twisted labyrinths in my dreams, with you as the ever-present Minotaur, both feared and revered. Sometimes, I wonder if you ever think of those days. Do you ever recall the weight of your words and actions? Or have they dissolved into the ether, insignificant and forgotte...