There is no poetry that speaks friendship.
And the words, few, escape in the senses.
Although with faltering steps in the uncertainty the way, in something we must be complying with life, because there is always a light that tell us we are in the right place and a sense of gratitude that floods us.
I thought that maybe friends born and grow with us and there were no later friends to add to the oldest ones, oldest but never old, friends from other times.
After all there are friends that are late, particularly in the absence they left even before they even existed.
There are always bends in the road where we lost direction and unwillingly, but very literally, we collide with friendship. And maybe this is the reason whyfor all the obstacles of the road. To further feel the softness of a friend embrace.
When nothing surprises us anymore that's when life happens. And how many times do we get distracted from life, going down through dark streets and steep hills in the pursue of something new, of better days or perfect meetings?
Then an invitation. Of those kind which brings tummy butterflies in the crossroads of the way, which validates that no matter where do we came from or nowhere at all, but the enthusiasm of the way and the earth beneath our feet, to ensure with an unmatched guarantee stamp that there is always more life at every turn and at every stone of the way.
With no poetry and short words we deliver a thank you, we toast to friendship and life.
To friendship, that so strange form of love that make us fall in love even with the stones of the road.
Because the certainty of happy days is this passport, which is ours: