Judas

It was not the curse that made him leave, but the silence in the eyes of the Beloved. There, in the moment when the wine turned too red, and the bread lost the taste of forgiveness, Judas understood that God cannot be bought but can be sold. Thirty pieces of silver, heavy as a mother’s silence after her son’s death, cold as the hand that no longer reaches out when you collapse under the weight of choice. He was not evil, only too human to forgive the light that asked for nothing. He kissed Him not like a friend, but like a wound that could not be spoken. That kiss was not betrayal, but a desperate attempt to stop Him from becoming more than what a heart of flesh can grasp. And perhaps he never meant to lose Him, only to make Him remain man a little longer, one more miracle, one more night without a cross. But God does not negotiate with fear, nor with love shattered in the corner of a left eye. He walks all the way to the end, even when Judas weeps in the tree where fruit no longer grows, only questions. And between good and evil, Judas was the bridge, burned at both ends, so that we could cross without falling.