One September 15th I fell in love to the bone. Also, on September 15, I had my heart broken in as many places as you think it is humanly possible, and on September 15, I modified a saying.
I don't think that being alone means avoiding being in bad company, I think rather that being with yourself, when you get to like yourself, is the most pleasant company.
It took me about 15 years to empathize with those who prefer to spend a holiday at home, in the company of a good dog, a book and a sip of their favorite alcohol, than blowing out their eardrums with reggeaton and their livers with an alcohol that could well disinfect the stove.
On September 15 I understood this was not for divine illumination, not even close, it was in a supermarket hallway; next to the fruit - I think they were lemons - when the face of my ex's girlfriend got caught in the plane of vision. Seconds later the face of my past confirmed it.
There we were, the three of us. On September 15 in the supermarket, she, he, and I, and my huge and kind smile to greet you both; also my monologues that make people uncomfortable, because I talk so much with my nerves, that I even seem naturally eloquent.
However, I greeted them and wished them a good party; I turned around and went on with my super list.
I believe that this turnaround, this farewell between lemons and avocados, was more significant to me than the dozens of closure' rituals I did for two years. I believed her and I liked her.
That 15 I understood that yes, although I accept that minutes later I began to breathe as if I was going to run out of oxygen, it is possible to look better alone than with someone next door.
Punctually I think I materialized all the hackneyed phrases of self-improvement in one of the halls of the superstore, and with what I'm shitting myself going to the superstore.
Oh, September, you're always so accurate.