It’s not an already packaged dress,
but fabric to cut, sew.
It’s not a turnkey apartment,
but a house to be conceived, built, store and often repair.
It is not conquered peak,
but departure from the valley, exciting climbs, painful falls in the cold of the night or in the heat of the bursting sun.
It is not solid anchoring in the port of happiness
but it’s a levar the anchor, it’s a journey in the open sea, under the breeze or storm.
It’s not a triumphant “yes,” huge staple that is scored between the music, smiles and applause,
but it’s a multitude of “yes” that dot life, among a multitude of “no” that clear themselves along the way.
It’s not the sudden appearance of a new life, perfect from birth,
but gush of source and along the river with multiple meanderings, sometimes dry, sometimes overflowing,
but always on its way to the infinite sea.
