Patients do not stop. We sweep. One is made hollow to accommodate the other. And listen. They get us to shut up to ourselves to speak them. And listen. We deliver. Is a compromise. Discipline. An honor. Work. We are called to respond from within. Each in a language so different, showing a diverse world, so intimate. I I acostumbrabdo to speak slowly and softly, and it seems that sometimes works, approach shyly and once with rapture. We must be ready. It must be catching the ball. If you blink, you lose a part of a second of something fundamental, like a breath. They are waves. Sometimes you have to be hot and sometimes you have to be very firm. Columns. Din and Hesed. Din and Hesed. The balance. And we forgive a lot. Like when we started to say something without thinking before, and we get a piece of a Picasso. They also discipline us to us. We are taught to listen. Sometimes they are very sweet. We illustrate, always talking about new ways to very quiet emotions. We demand a lot. An impossible love. And listen. We sculpture, till we we beat them, watching us. And listen. And what about when they leave us waiting. Kings go from being babies and new kings in seconds. Witnessing his tears. One is silent. And his confidence in front of us mourn. What could you say? Sometimes they insist on saying nothing. We want to push all sides, and if one stays in place, is to listen. And listen. Anger comes after love and indifference in his account. Doubts. Dying and revived. Patients are phoenixes. And make us turn into birds. A minute before the time comes knocking at the door, as now, they are calling, I have to go.
