C\u00e2nd au intrat \u00een apartament, aerul era greu, plin de praf \u0219i de amintiri uitate. Mirosul de vechi le-a t\u0103iat r\u0103suflarea. Geamurile erau acoperite cu perdele \u00eeng\u0103lbenite, iar pe podea, ici-colo, se vedeau urme de pene.<\/p>\n
Pe masa din sufragerie, zeci de plicuri erau a\u0219ezate cu grij\u0103, toate av\u00e2nd acela\u0219i scris tremurat. Pe fiecare scria acela\u0219i nume: Maria<\/strong>.<\/p>\n Vecinii au \u00eenceput s\u0103 citeasc\u0103, de\u0219i m\u00e2inile le tremurau. Scrisorile erau vechi de decenii. Erau scrise de un b\u0103rbat plecat \u00een armat\u0103, care \u00eei promitea c\u0103 se va \u00eentoarce. Fiecare r\u00e2nd era plin de dor, de speran\u021b\u0103 \u0219i de iubire. Ultimul plic, \u00eens\u0103, era diferit. Data era din 1978, iar \u00een el scria doar at\u00e2t: \u201eDac\u0103 nu m\u0103 mai \u00eentorc, te voi c\u0103uta \u00een fiecare zi, chiar \u0219i din cer.\u201d<\/p>\n Femeia despre care se vorbea, Maria, fusese o locatar\u0103 b\u0103tr\u00e2n\u0103, t\u0103cut\u0103, care murise singur\u0103, f\u0103r\u0103 rude. Nimeni nu \u0219tia prea multe despre ea, doar c\u0103 \u00een fiecare zi hr\u0103nea porumbeii la fereastra ei. Dup\u0103 ce a murit, oamenii au spus c\u0103 p\u0103s\u0103rile disp\u0103ruser\u0103… p\u00e2n\u0103 acum.<\/p>\n Unul dintre vecini, Andrei, s-a uitat mai atent la o fotografie \u00eenr\u0103mat\u0103 pe perete. Era un t\u00e2n\u0103r \u00een uniform\u0103, \u021bin\u00e2nd \u00een m\u00e2n\u0103 o scrisoare \u0219i z\u00e2mbind. \u00cen col\u021bul pozei scria acela\u0219i nume \u2013 Ion.<\/p>\n \u201ePoate porumbeii sunt sufletele care nu \u0219i-au g\u0103sit lini\u0219tea\u201d, a spus o femeie \u00een \u0219oapt\u0103. Nimeni n-a r\u00e2s.<\/p>\n C\u00e2nd au \u00eencercat s\u0103 deschid\u0103 fereastra, p\u0103s\u0103rile s-au dat la o parte, dar n-au zburat. \u00cen schimb, una dintre ele a scos de sub arip\u0103 un plic mai nou, curat, cu un scris diferit. Pe el scria: \u201ePentru cei care vor g\u0103si dragostea noastr\u0103.\u201d<\/p>\n Andrei l-a deschis cu grij\u0103. \u00cen\u0103untru era o scrisoare simpl\u0103, dar emo\u021bionant\u0103: O lini\u0219te ciudat\u0103 a umplut camera. Porumbeii au \u00eenceput s\u0103 f\u00e2lf\u00e2ie din aripi \u0219i, pe r\u00e2nd, au zburat afar\u0103, p\u00e2n\u0103 c\u00e2nd nu a mai r\u0103mas niciunul. Ultimul s-a oprit pe pervaz, a ciugulit un fir de h\u00e2rtie rupt dintr-o scrisoare \u0219i s-a ridicat \u00een aer, disp\u0103r\u00e2nd \u00een lumin\u0103.<\/p>\n Dup\u0103 c\u00e2teva zile, Andrei a observat c\u0103 locul ferestrei era din nou plin de via\u021b\u0103 \u2014 flori, lum\u00e2n\u0103ri \u0219i bile\u021bele aduse de oameni necunoscu\u021bi. To\u021bi scriau acela\u0219i lucru: \u201ePentru Maria \u0219i Ion, iubirea care n-a murit niciodat\u0103.\u201d<\/p>\n Blocul a prins din nou suflet. Porumbeii veneau \u00een fiecare diminea\u021b\u0103, dar acum oamenii \u00eei hr\u0103neau cu drag, \u0219tiind c\u0103 poart\u0103 \u00een ei o poveste care nu trebuia uitat\u0103.<\/p>\n \u0218i de atunci, oricine trece pe acea strad\u0103 simte ceva greu de explicat. Poate un fior, poate o c\u0103ldur\u0103 ciudat\u0103 \u00een piept. C\u00e2nd au intrat \u00een apartament, aerul era greu, plin de praf \u0219i de amintiri uitate. Mirosul de vechi le-a t\u0103iat r\u0103suflarea. Geamurile erau acoperite cu perdele \u00eeng\u0103lbenite, iar pe podea, ici-colo, se vedeau urme de pene. Pe masa din sufragerie, zeci de plicuri erau a\u0219ezate cu grij\u0103, toate av\u00e2nd acela\u0219i scris tremurat. Pe fiecare scria […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":9915,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[18],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-9914","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-povesti"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bumzi.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9914","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bumzi.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bumzi.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bumzi.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bumzi.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=9914"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/bumzi.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9914\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":9916,"href":"https:\/\/bumzi.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9914\/revisions\/9916"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bumzi.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/9915"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bumzi.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=9914"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bumzi.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=9914"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bumzi.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=9914"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\u201eAm tr\u0103it o via\u021b\u0103 \u00eentreag\u0103 a\u0219tept\u00e2nd o iubire care n-a mai venit. Dar dac\u0103 dragostea exist\u0103 undeva, ea trebuie \u00eemp\u0103rt\u0103\u0219it\u0103. Nu l\u0103sa\u021bi timpul s\u0103 v\u0103 fure inimile. Iubi\u021bi c\u00e2t pute\u021bi, c\u00e2t \u00eenc\u0103 ave\u021bi cui spune \u2018Te a\u0219tept.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n
Unii spun c\u0103, dac\u0103 te opre\u0219ti \u0219i ascul\u021bi atent, po\u021bi auzi o \u0219oapt\u0103 bl\u00e2nd\u0103 printre aripi:
\u201eIubirea adev\u0103rat\u0103 nu moare niciodat\u0103.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"