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Mitos de amor

  
Dejando que la pena hablara, dijo Vicente Aleixandre que amar era olvidar la vida. Mas ¿cómo olvidar lo que somos, y abandonar lo querido en las frías manos de la nada? Los años, que acumulan infortunios, torpezas y malevolencias en forma de hábitos e inercias de llantos, las heridas, que nos empujan a no recordar el dolor para poder seguir amando con aquella niñez del mar -o a apenas respirar-, oprimen con daños, exiliando el corazón cansado, extrañado de sí, acorralado entre fantásmicas fronteras donde sólo las lágrimas de opio son la ideal compaña y el consuelo.
  ¡Qué famélico el amor que olvida muerte o vida en su delirio! Se ha de querer morir como se ha de querer vivir, siempre por amor a la vida. En un ya sin dioses universo, ningún sentido es mayor que hacer poema de los ojos compañeros, de los asombrados espejos solares por donde riela la voz y la vaga memoria de otras vidas.

  Amar es creer que a la vida aún le queda otra canción por cantar, sea o no sea entonces ya el aire nuestro.

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