Riddle Football Helmets

dear diane,

was something I thought as I stared at the bathroom mirror at the exit of the cinema.

is much talk about "sharing experiences" but seldom stop to realize that this is a great nonsense. do not share experiences, because their perception is always unique, and often transferable. it's like virtual reality: you are there, but not really, because deep down what you hear, feel or sense is not really lived. so what you have, "real" is a euphemism of experience, an unrealistic figure that has little to do with whatever is being said or told by those who wished to share.

felt it in the output of the hours. there was nothing there to be shared, not only for myself but for others. what happened to a greater or lesser extent, was a mutual comfort, an attempt to try to stifle the good will of a spirit of deep silence that seemed to all.

was well with the hours, and has thus been closer.

looking in the bathroom mirror, watching the wires gray gaining more space, I noticed small changes in facial features, beard, glasses, the look, and I seemed to be riding with this stranger for too long.

the person who helped shape the past few years now seemed to me an old unknown, a incognita, another life, like one of those small urban dramas of the early '80s.

even looked into the eyes, and seemed unable to understand what this stranger had me add, or if I really wanted in my life. behind each eye there is a quiet story that does not come back, only sediments: the colder water, the blower's daughter, the pupil in denial. you can not trust that easy confidence of a smile or the way they say okay with teeth clenched and eyes closed, looking for something that is not known.
an
so it is. Dear Agony Aunt