The Unbearable Love in the Time .... I woke up late As usual at this time. The time has really changed now, and really reached the autumn, with its gray skies and gloomy. And I'm becoming ever more metereopatico. In the past half-sleep ominous night, shaking the sheets warm, I thought.
A woman bends to pick the potatoes, with its long skirt, heavy in summer. Run away home, going up the slope. Prepares food for his large family, for other farmers who came to help in the fields, for the neighbors who are digging as well. Cica 30 people, and she does everything by itself. The massive body certainly does not abandon it, but felt now was no longer a girl, the pain is felt, the deformed body after 9 parts. At 40 years old. Prepares bundles, traces the way, comes in the fields, is all sweaty, hairy men. The husband continued to the apostrophe. "Bring the wine!" or "bread of La Mancha." And she jumps from side to side, with her skirt swinging, with baskets on their heads and arms. Nothing can help her daughter, the only child died two days after being born. The others are already working in the fields, even at 8 years. In the evening slumped on the dilapidated mattress has brutally and her husband, in addition to meeting the obligations of marriage, think of things to do the next day. But I also think of a husband who does not love anymore, or maybe he never loved, a life decent but hard, tough, feral. Sighs, shakes her shoulders, her husband already Russian. It 's so it should be, this is how God wants, wife and mother. Point.
Now in our days, marriages akin minimum thresholds to be reached historical records. Maybe they're all happy, maybe they are all happier, or freer? My father says that we the youth of today are weak, we are unable to continue a marriage. And perhaps ineffective coexistence is just a situation of convenience, it makes everything easier. As long as there is love, is when there is love, everything ends. We are weak. Previous generations clutching his back, shoulders large, who have endured so much, and were forward. Now the minimum argument, the story ends. But where the real freedom, where the love? Before or after?
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