Lonelinets

The nets that protect the games

That maintain the sense of team

That separate the meeting point

Crosses from the sweaty air

That resist the harsh life

That also fool the sun

Like us

Lonely

Hit by the sun

Entertained by the wind’s blows

Swollen in the face

they fall down

but they never give up

Slapped by sure voles

Shaken by a penalty

decided at the last second

Incest of many dunks

Lonely

Abandoned like stray dogs

In the cold of the Sundays’ end

They don’t win and they don’t lose

Networks of the fields that have never leaved

Between buildings under construction

Between a kick-off whistle and a train passing

Between the churches and a childhood memory

Between the leather and the dressing room

And the showers

Empty

Pitches

Lonely

Under the snow

The loneliness of the nets

Which keeps company with memories

That smells of tennis

Grass

Teammate fatigues

Tangled at the time

Like the soul

Lonely

Did you ever hear the sound of the nets? Not possible; this sound is only perceivable when the nets are alone.

Loneliness is understood as an inability to love and offer solidarity. We may not free ourselves from loneliness, and it is, therefore, a good thing to make an honest agreement with it. Loneliness shows human beings all the misery of life. It leads to hopeless accounts of ourselves, confronted with reality. It is precisely for this reason we need to be strong, to bear the lonely weight throughout the days of life — no comfort, except perhaps a tremendous, desolate freedom to get lost in. A turn to disappear, to escape from life.

In the most terrible hour of the evening, when the passing day’s weight is still sinking, a scream, a cry, is breaking from the throat. Must resist, must struggle with this weakness. Solitude is yes, a tremendous weight, but it is also love: a love for freedom, for the poor roads and fields of the world.