You look beautiful

The days can be very long and the nights very black when you have no one to pay attention to you.

I'm not talking about children or parents or brothers, but about someone who caresses your back and soul.

Someone who cares about you and cares about you beyond genes and due care.

Someone with whom you can rest from yourself.

There are those who call it love.

Let's leave it in company and deep and reciprocal affection.

When that is had and is lost, or longed for and does not come, not even the sad consolation of realizing that others are worse off watching other people's misfortunes on TV compensates for the feeling of having been excluded from the party of life.

So if, suddenly, one stupid day, someone enters your screen, treats your ears, and wishes you good morning and good night every day, you can get hooked on that drug and, when you realize it, give them what you want. ask, whether you have it or not, as long as he keeps telling you.

It doesn't matter if your photo doesn't stand up to a Google search.

Let your Spanish be an electronic translator.

You believe it because you want to believe it.

They call them love scammers.

Let's leave it to the camels of feeling alive by and for someone.

A bait that too many women and men take, although they report less because they are more ashamed.

More than age and digital incompetence, it is also the loneliness that gnaws at their spirits that makes them victims of those who fleece their wallets and break their auricles.

“You look beautiful,” one bad day, from some computer in some corner of the planet, someone without scruples wrote to Amelia, 71 years old, the youngest of the three siblings murdered in her home in the Madrid town of Morata de Tajuña.

Maybe it was the first time they had told her, or she had wanted it for so long and it hadn't come that Amelia fell into a trap that would end up taking the three of them away.

She didn't care that the photo of her was that of Wesley Clark, a Yankee general retired after leading NATO during the Kosovo war.

That the compliment sounded false from Kabul, where the impersonator said he was destined.

Amelia believed him because she wanted to believe him.

How the gypsy believed the payo who told her “you will be more than a queen” in the mythical couplet.

How deluded, Amelia, those of us who presume that we would never take such a crude bait judge you.

But one also lives by illusion.

And he dies.

Subscribe to continue reading

Read without limits

Keep reading

I am already a subscriber

_