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And as we were wanting a little more romantic (yes, yes, a bit more!) To exorcise the truncated love, the Platonic, the unrequited, which we staked the heart, here are these passages of "fires" of the Belgian writer Marguerite Yourcenar:

-“El alcohol desembriaga, después de beber unos sorbitos de coñac, ya no pienso más en ti”.

-“No darse es seguir dándose. Es dar nuestro sacrificio”.

-“Aún me queda una sucia esperanza. Cuento, a pesar mío, con una solución de continuidad del instinto: lo equivalente, en la vida del corazón, al acto del distraído que se equivoca de nombres y de puertas. Te deseo con horror una traición de Camilo, un fracaso junto a Claudio y un escándalo que te aleje de Hipólito. No me importa cuál sea el paso en falso que te haga caer sobre mi cuerpo”.

-“(…) me niego to make you an object, even the beloved object. "

- "What would in your hand? A bird, a seed, a knife, a key to open the heart tin can? "

-" A heart is probably something dirty. Belongs to the tables of anatomy and the butcher's counter. I prefer your body. "

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... But the lawyers are some gals romantic (sigh) and so we reproduce part of a text that is in Roland Barthes' A Lover's Discourse Fragments ", after the brief comment of its author.

"The discourse of love is now a solitude. These are words spoken may by thousands of people, but nobody says, is completely abandoned by the surrounding languages. Or ignored or dismissed, or ridiculed by them. When a speech is so driven by their own strength in the drift of the out of date, it remains only to be the place, meager as it is, in a statement. "


Waiting (text by Donald W. Winnicott, a pediatrician, a psychiatrist and psychoanalyst English *)

Waiting is an enchantment: I was ordered not to move. The wait for a phone call for bans is woven so tiny, the infinite, to the unspeakable: deprive me out Part of the bathroom, talking on the phone even (not to occupy the unit), I suffer if I phone (for the same reason), I crazy to think that such time will be necessary for me to close out, thus risking losing the so-called benefactor. All these entertainment

I would ask them to wait for lost time, impurities of anxiety. Since the anxiety of waiting, in its purity, he wants me to stay seated on a chair to reach the phone, doing nothing.

Am I in love?

"Yes, because I hope.

The other, he does not expect ever.

Sometimes I do not expect to play and I try to take care of other things, to arrive late;

but I always lose this game.



* Suck the tangerine!

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"Believe" in the stars *

I've seen in the tide of this inland sea
fact months
daily on the moon in your eyes,
solar heat in your arms
tracing the wound on the skin
constellations that feeds your shoulders
full of melanin,
rest of my hands ...

I've seen in the slope of thy womb,
in the liquid crystal
of short tears, in the fiery
Palor of eternal thighs like snow ...

The stars just ordered the rhythm of things,
have memory and signs of what was and is.
Let the fanfare of their orbits,
leaves your skin with its mandate.


* Original untitled Hector Murena, Argentina (1923-1975)

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When in doubt it is, we must get down to business!