Through the thin veil of memories

Through the thin veil of memories, nights flow like a river of ancient ink, weaving mystic shadows in the silent dance of time. There is no shortage of good days, but good lives are like hidden treasures, rare and precious, like falling stars in the infinite night. A life of good days lived through the senses is not enough; the life of sensation is the life of greed, an unquenchable flame that burns ever more intensely, demanding more and more. My body has known this greed, the unbridled desire to feel, to live in the whirlpool of sensations. But my spirit, oh, my spirit, has found solace in deep silence, in those moments when time stops and becomes a silent friend, a sweet and eternal caress. The life of the spirit requires less and less, time unfolds like a vast ocean, and its passage is like a lullaby of the universe. Who would understand the joy of a day spent in the company of books, those silent friends who reveal their secrets only to those who know how to listen? But an entire life, lived in the sacred dance of words, this is the true treasure, a good life, full of meaning, that demands little but offers everything. My soul finds rest in pages, in those silent universes, where time becomes an illusion, and each day transforms into an eternity of sweet melancholy, of pleasant solitude, of deep wisdom. Through the open window of my soul, nights flow like a river of ink, but in the depths of this river, I have found peace. And in this peace, I have discovered the meaning of a good life – a life lived in words, a life lived in spirit, like a butterfly flying among the petals of dreams, my soul nourishes itself with the nectar of words. In the silence of libraries, among shelves full of worlds, I have found peace and meaning. Days come and go, but words remain, accompanying me on my journey through life. They are my lighthouse in the storms of uncertainty, my compass in the labyrinth of existence. A good life is not measured by the number of days lived, but by the depth of experiences. And the deepest experience is that of living in words, of losing oneself in the pages of a book, of finding oneself in the infinite universe of the mind.