What is love? An erupting volcano? Is it desire? Is it understanding? Complicity?  Friendship?

All this and much more, it is the union without limits, you will be given in full. I would like to express the feelings we could experience, when we were first-time parents. It was a long and difficult labour, my husband at all times made ​​me feel , loved, protected, wanted and love. I felt without limitation his love for me, despite the circumstances.

When he had to wait, because the wait was long , (then the father was not in the delivery room) , I always felt close giving me strength. When he finally had our first child into his arms, it is difficult to express the mixed feelings that embargoed us.

I was Mother. Everything was full of love, we melted into a hug and a kiss, as we emptied our being, all our love, to offer it to the fruit of our love who had just been born.

This happened forty years ago, we are still together and this episode is so alive in my mind. When I relive those moments, I still feel overcome with emotion, as if it were yesterday . „This is Love”



It was spring of 1965, I studied at the Learner’s CASASchool in Tablada. I used to leave at five-thirty in the afternoon. As the days were already long, I walked home through Mary Luisa Park with my friend Miguel. We were amused seeing through the fences high school girls doing gymnastics in the courtyard of the Murillo Institute, at that time of the FemaleSchool (at the pavilion of Argentina in Paseo de la Palmera). I noticed a blonde girl with a ponytail that seemed like a Greek goddess: light eyes, slender body, long legs, gorgeous creature. A big impact was caused by her vision, we continue our way commenting on how beautiful she was. The next day, I was looking forward for the afternoon, to see again that preciousness, for whom I had fallen. So I was doing it for several days, my heart was pounding every time I saw her working out, I was enthralled until my partner gave me the wake-up calls and we were going. Other times, we waited, at my insistence, the class to be finished in order to extend the time of the vision.

One day we were waiting for the class to start and she was not. It made ​​me think she would be sick. My surprise was to see her leave the Institute with an elegant gray coat and a small black purse. We followed her in a short distance from Los Remedios. She was so beautiful, so slender, seemed much older than me. I felt embarrassed and I was unable to ask her for her name, where she lived, something … but my friend insisted, even though I tried I did not get the words out. I felt defeated, my crush was frustrated when I was fifteen. I did not see her again.



Unreasonable awareness was love finally in front of me: an epiphany.

Laughed and cried and cried and laughed at the same time.

My madness was aware of what was happening, or perhaps, had already happened.

Because this nervous overreaction was the witness of a holy irreversibility.

It was you, in front of me. Neither search nor expected.

And the stronger joy of the fear of showing off ridicule to you made me drunk and I did not care.

Already defending this moment, I would protect it with force and lucidity. And other laughs and other cries, those times if separately will accompany our life.




Sheets were wet at no dawn. The light of the soul in the essence of your ancestral sphere. The wind played with your hair flavorings without being poured blue sea, without your routine … but he had wet the sheets. Then he walked barefoot on the marble and his autumn went limp perched on your breasts. He turned to walk in the immense ocean of his mistress, returning to the place where being born and die every night.

He recalled her lips of Diotima, the subtle verb of Plato, wrapping wet bodies, and all doubts were dispelled. Returning to the heaven of invented emotions. The dream  truth game created by desire. He had wet the sheets. He loved again what he could love.

He did not say that the night was dark,

Not even that a kiss could take.

He did not say that death is so long,

Not even said it is preferable to be born,

He only said… someday I will learn to love.



Statistics and feelings are not reconcilable. Maybe that’s why when I noticed that in 45 years alone we had seen three or four dozen days, I had to remember how grammar illustrates and confirms that the excitement, passion, affections are not measurable.

And yet I can remember those days of those years when I breath with your lungs by looking through your eyes or just that for almost a year, waiting for the arrival of the night to relieve the burning tears of an impossible teen love 1200 kms. away.



When I was 19, I met my first important love.

He was introduced by my cousin, he was his colleague.

I fell for his silence and his gaze.

When we were hanging out, talking and joking, he looked at me, smiled and said nothing. He was happy like this.

Why I liked: I found a guy deep, fascinating, maybe a little shy.

I started with him to overvalue men: over time I realized that was just silence because he had nothing to say and a lot to hide.

He went to live to another city away from mine, calling and writing me that I was the woman of his life.

One day I called his office but he was not there. A colleague who answered the phone asked me: „are you his wife? It has come a moment but will come back soon, can I say something? ”

An earthquake in and out of me.

So I discovered that he had married and, soon after, he had a son.



I am the postman that only knows the street that bears your name,

The guitar playing the note that rhymes with you,

I am the tailor sewing your star in the sky,

The ring hugging your finger,

I am a canvas and you, my painter

the traveler who is never tired if you are the destiny,

I am your watch and you’re my time,

I’m all the void filled with you.



On 16/Nov/1977 (when I was 23) I wrote:

„My longings”: Your touch, your singing, your love, your kiss, your joy, your hope your support, your help, your smile, you.

„Your my dream”: I always dreamed of the sea, with trees and flowers, with sunshine and joy, with hope, with faith, with infinite love, and my dream became reality your.

Those dreams and aspirations of youth lived on the need for an encounter with a limited „you” have led me to the experience of the serene pleasure of enjoying myself transcending towards a new search.

Today, in the mirror, my age 59, I am wrapped in my loving, warm skin, lover and beloved body who is still hoping to discover a shared passion for brand new corners. Knowing that everything is known, because the experience of love is no longer just deposited outside of me, I get from inside deep inside, in a place that I can not remember and recognize only the insatiable thirst of their meeting. From the details or flashes that speak to me of his existence, I delight passionately in this “journey”, sometimes sharing moments. Maybe it is my most accurate track.



Writing about my love life is an exercise that, doing it now, is like viewing a roller coaster, in the last years of my life until today.

The love that I have felt, given and received, until recently, has been the love of my life, the screening I had about love. Now, speaking of received love, it has been like having a maintenance fee with the person I loved, as a flat fee. Trying to define for me this love I have lived is like saying ……….. after you nothing ….. except the children, who have always been for me, a yester!.

This love lived has proved to be the monster that set on fire my soul and all my being … that’s my feeling about the past love, and my feeling result.

So true is something I heard recently of the words of a friend … “Life can only be lived looking forward, but can only be understood looking backward.” Thanks to all this feeling and all this pain I know now who I AM today, because I loved so much I got lost in the beloved, lesson learned today: TO REALLY LOVE NOT ONLY TO A BELOVED, BUT LOVE LIFE.