domingo, 25 de julio de 2010

A box.

Life is something like a cardboard box in the middle of a highway. Some cars evade the box, they don't know what is inside and they don't want to know it, maybe it's dangerous to run over it, and they just change their path.

In the other hand we have those people that don't give a fuck for the box, they just accelerate and hit the box as fast as they can, assuring that if there is something heavy or important inside, the accident would be so epic than they won't have no worries if they make it alive.

If it's raining, the box would seem stuck in the middle of the road, bent and decolourated, with nowhere to go and no force left, so people would think it doesn't matter if it gets a pair of tire marks. If it's windy, the most probably thing the box is doing is being stuck on the side of the road, no future, no will, no next steps.

Little people would stop. Very little, instead. This little people would matter about the box, about the safety of other people, about the contents of the box, even if risking their lives. This little people have over their shoulders the work that neither the cardboard boxes, neither the other drivers can or want to do.

So, in this night, I feel pretty much like a box in a rainy day. Bent, decolourated and waiting for someone that wants to know what is inside, and not if it's valuable.

Don't pay too much attention to this messy rant, probably the beer, probably the truth, maybe both want to remind me where the fuck I am right now.