In the guerrilla itself, we met love through our peers in the trenches, in the marches, in the combats, in the tasks… a high concept of brotherhood. And of course we also live with unparalleled passion the romantic, hormonal, and carnal love.
In times of armed confrontation, the sons and daughters of those loves were few or fewer than we would have wanted due to the conditions set by the war. By virtue of what we are getting a glimpse of –the possibility of peace- love overflows naturally, waist lines disappear, the eyes of men and women shine while they await the arrival of their "little clones". The longed, suffered, and many times dodged peace finally starts to take shape. In the midst of the power and pettiness of a few, it leaks like water, springs from all corners, becomes a people, it germinates.
The sons and daughters of our brothers and sisters are our nephews, they will call us one day aunt or uncle, and that will sound amazingly sweet. Joyful and playful as Mozart's music, fresh as air on the mountain, it will sound like a flock of birds on the sea.
We love our nephews as if they were our own children, we want to surround them with security, protecting them from what we believe to be bad, thinking that for no reason or motive should they suffer experiences that we ourselves have already been through. We do everything possible for their happiness; we dream that they will live beautiful experiences. We used to be a family without children playing, screaming, messing around, asking a thousand times the same things, saying amazing words and phrases. But now we are a complete family, with more responsibilities.
We have the responsibility, the commitment, the obligation to build together in joint with the people, the peace of Colombia. With eyes wide open, alert senses, more than before, we need to keep in mind that the friends of war don’t sleep. And they don’t sleep because they don't have dreams, only nightmares. With breadth and generosity, with the strength on our values and principles, with permanent unity, discipline, work and study; with trust in our leadership, commanders and comrades we will be able to guarantee the achievement of our purposes.
The love for a woman or a man, the love for the children, the love our comrades in struggle; the nostalgia, which is the sadness of love, for the fallen; the love for the people must be concrete, must materialize into something. When love is real it moves mountains and makes possible the impossible. That love is concretized working to build a better country for all; our ideas, projects, and plans are carried out and inspired by the people.
Our heirs who are currently just children already carry it in their blood, in their genes. These children were born with the virus of revolution; they will be educated by their parents, uncles and aunts in the mathematics of struggle, in the relativity of social processes and quantum physics, in the poetry and music of our history.
To those little beings born from the hope of peace and love, to those babies in the Transitional Zones, to them we dedicate our 53 years of struggle.