The Last Move

To live is to participate in a game where every move tries to be the best. Existence is not a linear game; it has its own ups and downs, its unexpected moves, and its silent rules. It brings us closer to, and at the same time pushes us away from, the people we love, condemning us to live alone in a constant dream between the past and the future. Although we strive to organize every move, life flows with its own movements over a void that lurks and crumbles. We believe we are in control, but destiny waits, observes us, mocks us, and makes its final move with the "kiss of death." It is that piece that moves without warning, breaking all the rules, appearing when we least expect it to declare the final checkmate, causing our solidity to vanish. In that last breath, our gaze retreats; the echo of our past life strikes us just as the game ends. The true nature of our existence is not to win, but to accept that we are part of a game where time always claims the last piece. That's when we understand the importance of having enjoyed the journey while it lasted, accepting that defeat is inevitable. All that remains is the dignity of having played our own game until our last breath.