Time is always a loner, always the victor. The immensity of life also squeezes me so much that I can not breathe and I spend days sweating and vomiting and crying. But inside. Without staining clothes us, without us glow red eyes.
And you and I we knew plenty. We knew the anguish of meaninglessness embrace us hopeless, we knew we think was our conviction and we were looking dragonflies among the dancers leaves of the willow because we were young and we were not going to give up.
The love was all we had left.
There, nestled on the banks of the Guadalquivir we expected timid and cautious, accompanied us in our children 's games and we splashed water clear summer evenings.
I was there when you followed the back on the stones and you covereth eyes from the sun with your children 's hands. When I approached you silently and I was looking at the wet face, watching the air enter your nose and down to your chest, watching your long eyelashes rest of the world.
He was watching when the day of my birthday gave me dress yellow that your mother had bought me and said in his ear, "then I give you the gift of truth" and you took me on your bike to the sea to give me a first blue and immense kiss.
trying to hide but failed when we talked about way philosophy faculty, with hearts afraid because from the city not the river looked. I looked at my beard and dark eyes and thus, in the most beautiful way, I found the time, with your hand on my knee.
As the years passed and you and I were still you and me. We went to town on weekends and strolled among the memories building our own history, wallowing in the wreckage of autumn. The stars laughing and sometimes crying with them, feeling as life had in store for us a bitter almond, an abyss.
We were too alike, Santi. We wanted out, wanted to eat the world, travel, fly. And we thought we could all but could not. When I suggested going to Madrid to study and I was offered a scholarship to Berlin interrogation was a hole in the air, we flew in every conversation like a cloud of dust. Damn. Fear trickled us both equally, souring our eyes, souring the landscape. Fear of becoming stagnant waters, poor mires, fear end up being dry and dead land that all they can do is wait for the rain of April. We loved the people and yet we terrified stillness, its streets full of old with beret and the same rooster crowing every morning.
He finished both summer and we disappeared.
Between promises and encouraging goodbyes, we disappeared forever. The enthusiasm for the bright future that we offered could yet took it all.
Forty years have passed and I do not know where love is. Maybe he was on the banks of the Guadalquivir, waiting for other carefree kids, or perhaps has been lost in some road in Europe, trying to send us the letter we never write.
For me it was not easy. Sophisticated Europe he showed expected distant, hostile in many occasions. The Sun went from friend companion working parent, I was to live but never played with me to spill my skin like I used to. And I resigned myself like I resigned myself with your absence: counting time with a wristwatch that had never been before, enclosed between clouds and large gray buildings, using the raucous bustle and hollow as an excuse to enclaustrarme to study for hours. Every day.
They spent a few years and when I started working I saved some money and traveled to Spain for Christmas. I remember the way to the village in the old car of my father, Iremember the bumps and wiggles in the back seat and I remember I saw your silhouette at every turn. I asked you. I was told that I was wrong, you were still doing a Masters in Madrid and there would spend the holidays with your group of friends.
I spent the plane ride back from crying her eyes. The lady next to me asked me and I answered without looking at her: "Why have not asked your address?" And even today I'm asking more than I would like. I
finally got to find somewhere else to do mine in the world , I have surrounded myselfwith good people whom I love and who loves me, I have learned to enjoy the pale sun, the fierceness of the streets, of the thousand new faces every day.
Santiago, I can not ask you again ...
Contigo learned to live, I discovered the world in your eyes and I have not seen from any cliff. Santi, I have never loved anyone like I loved you. But you can not ask me that again ... You and I no longer exist. We are two strangers old, we can not sully our history. Please. Do not ask me again.
Thank you for teaching me what is the meaning of this allegory call life impossible.