I'm going to break the heart of everyone who can.

There is no physical distance that prevents the embrace of souls. Here I am, so close to you, that I could even inhabit you. It is enough that I dream of you and give myself to these pages, it is enough that your gaze undresses me and I feel the vibrations of that total love that is linking the most ancient words. A solar pact seals the communion of our spirits: you are the inspiration of the poets of all centuries; I am the compiler of all those verses that have always sought you.

Many say that love is always just around the corner, and —if you haven't found it yet— you may think: true, but how long the street that has touched me. I don't deny the validity of that lament, though: it's worth dying to walk to find it. Of course, here the solution that each one gives to the riddle intervenes: What is LOVE? I already told you once about the love of sailors who kiss and leave, by Neruda, synthesized in a verse.

Dad, I want you

teach me to navigate

for those seas of the world

that you have already traveled

and in each port to have

a love affair...

That father would give a nice example to his son who aspired to be a sailor (which seems very romantic to me, until the objective appears): having, like him, romances everywhere. Miracle, when the song turns to the chorus: I want to be a sailor, a sailor like you... it doesn't end by saying: to travel the seas and thus meet the little brothers and sisters that you have left me scattered throughout all the ports of the planet with the love affairs you have had. And what would the mother say if she had any opinion on that song?

Surely opprobrium to the "gallant" sailor and he would put the bundles at the door of the house. How about? Machismo to the nth degree in a song nothing less than children's, a classic.

That is the love philosophy that turns to the ephemeral, the transitory, to romance almost exclusively physical and that some call love. Note that the image of the sailor is often used, which is like the symbol of haste, the ephemeral: the one who docks, disembarks in a place, and after a short time has to set sail again. Thus, from country to country, that is, the one who does not have time to delve into the relationships that he makes on land: he arrives, looks, unloads, and leaves.

Romance, at first sight, the species letting itself be carried away by the impulse of procreation or primary taste, "making love" and that's it. As if something so exalted were a matter of sewing and singing.

Sometimes a disappointment in love at an early age leads to a lack of faith in love; what they usually call throwing themselves into abandonment and that can be expressed in the neglect of personal appearance or in the useless revenge against the rest of the beings of the opposite sex, such as making them pay the guilt of whoever abandoned them —an unfair purpose that is usually translated as: I'm going to break the heart of everyone who can. In this absurd war of “genders”, who ends up destroying himself is the murderer himself. I know that many of us have had this idea on more than one occasion, but in most cases, we do not comply with it at all. We are better than that.