How difficult it is to let go of the things we like. Visiting every corner of your house and don't cry about letting go. Remembering the poems inspired in paintings, telling stories. Having to leave everything there, like dirty socks to be washed. How difficult it is to leave the creations, friend hearts, in the hands of another generation to carry out everything. Leaving without having to look behind. Just to retire, believing that everything passes, even the attachments created. How difficult it is to stop having a past, just to be strong. Pretending do not care about missing things and losing the connection of home, friends and people who brought many things and painted colors adding values to the picture of aching pain in the eternal loss. How difficult it is to write the epitaph of one’s life. How difficult it is not to cry, knowing that people want laugh. How difficult it is to say goodbye, when you wanted to stay. How difficult it is to leave as if it were normal, never in pain. How difficult it is to just announce leaving, without whining. How difficult it is to understand the right time and nothing else. How difficult it is to leave so much done and so much to be done. Because life is made up of doing and what still needs to be done. This embracement I did in the imperfection of saying goodbye. Which I had never thought possible rationally. Goodbye that I throw into the laps of those, the strongest, who would keep dreams alive. That's life. Someone leaves so that others embrace the cause. That's why I could leave in peace, with a feeling of duty accomplished.