We always have intimations to the measure of our capacity, even if we neglect them for the benefit of other more exchangeable and mundane currencies. When I was a child I dreaded Sunday evenings; something in me sensed the unfathomable mediocrity of the world of the elders and their dull flight from boredom. However I was never at odds with the dreamy grayness of the asphalt or with the implausible trees that cross it, and now I understand that discomfort came more than anything from not disposing of my own time, because those who do it always find ways to deceive themselves. Over the years, the Sunday evening has become the time of the week that I appreciate most, and although I rarely honor it as I would like, it still opens a window in my mind out of the wheel of repetition.

Continuar leyendo «SUNDAY EVENING»