Love begins.

Love begins. At any corner, at any second, in any theater or caffe, love begins. It begins in the blink of an eye, at a hand touch in the edge of hesitation, love may be proven through a smell, through a song, or a dance.Love begins at a theater, through the steps of some foolish movie, through exchanged lips, tongues intertwined, restless and excited, in the shadows of a romance.

And when it starts, love turns into different formats. In Rio, love turns into a newspaper story. In New York, it becomes a play. In Italy, love turns into tarantella. In Hollywood, movies. In Paris, a novel it becomes. In Brasilia, it becomes concrete. In countryside, love turns into gossip. In Britain, it becomes accent. And overfull love turns into and out of sexes.

And so it is everywhere. In Brasilia, love begins on the summer terrace remains, underneath buildings,through cigarettes' smoke and the sound of commercials. In the northern hemisphere, love begins in a warm winter. In the South, love begins in a note from a carnival. In Japan, love gets pulled over through a petite glance.But anywhere in the world, love begins as an emergency, and for ever.

(...) Even if, someday, it will be over.