Love, even if battles are fought, is not a war. Although there are clashes, the other is never the enemy. That other can be you, when you scold yourself for having screwed up. That other, in this case another, may be the person who sleeps with you. It steals the sheets and takes away little by little and without dissimulation the land that corresponds to you under all the layers of clothing with which you try to protect yourself from the cold.
A frosty fight as an accomplice, that feeds on sharing dreams and hopes. Also nightmares, despairs and failures. Because in this way, sharing is born complicity. A complicity that allows battles, but not wars.
Love, even if battles are fought, is not a war. Although there are clashes, the other is never the enemy.
The path to perfect empathy
Battles in which not everything is worth. Tickling always, caresses too. Resentment is a pistol that jams itself. Forgive and forget. It is deleted and new accounts are made. And if they do not fit, one, as the last gesture, gives reason, knowing that having that hand, however powerful, is not the best. The poker of aces is really that the other does not end up hurt. Thus, before the last cracking, logic kneels knee and thanks.
He is grateful to have the other. Count on him. As much as we sometimes have the feeling that he does not understand us and that we form with him a perfect tower of Babel. It happens with our partners, but also with our parents, friends or children. No matter how empathetic we are, the perfect exercise is impossible.
They can not do it, but neither do we. Yes, we do not, although we have the feeling that sometimes we touch it with the tips of our fingers. That our effort is great in this sense does not guarantee us to achieve it. To think that we achieved it is a mirage as sincere as the water flowing from the sands of the desert.
So ... when we do not get it. At least, when we do not get it with an acceptable amount of error (the other does not get it with an acceptable amount of error) we are not guilty (not guilty). The effort influences the result, opens more and better possibilities, brings you closer to honesty, but seldom ensures a result.
And how many battles that threaten war are born from the feeling that the other does not make an effort? How fragile is our memory to remember the times that the other person was attentive. The same red pen -which we sometimes use to write the rulings- is the same one that then signs our sentence. The one that builds brick by brick that obstacle that will end up being definitive. It is then when communication breaks down and love dissolves in routine like a sugar in coffee. Slowly, but hard to stop.
He is grateful to have the other. Count on him. As much as we sometimes have the feeling that he does not understand us and that we form with him a perfect tower of Babel.
War wounds are deep, often deadly
Because recovering love when war has been declared is a very complicated task. The other happens to be the enemy, someone to defeat and dominate. Many at this point think that everything will end when you raise your arms, but then probably there will be nothing left. The previously fertile territory will now be arid and unprotected. Everything will be valid and nobody wants to continue playing with who cheats, nobody wants to who reminds him of the worst of him. On one side or the other, loser or loser, that rupture will have been produced by actually shooting with closed eyes, by threatening with the loaded pistol.
For forgetting that a solid love does not stop being delicate and fragile at the same time.
Strong, but sensitive.
Because when a love is transformed into a war, that love is broken, torn and becomes an incandescent and sharp blight, capable of cracking into very small pieces. That is why it is so important not to shoot first, or to make wet paper the statement that the other gives us. Then we can decide to follow and build, or break the relationship, but better not to choose to destroy ourselves, because ultimately and selfishly we will end up drowning ourselves, in our own pain.