Sometimes I think you're still here, that you never really left. That you'll come back any minute, kiss the back of my neck, and whisper, "Don't be sad, baby." That this reality is just a bad joke, a nightmare I need to wake up from. And that, even so, despite the vastness of infinity, you like me. Sometimes I climb onto the rooftop to watch the clouds, and memories parade across the sky. I lie down, think of you, and if a shooting star dares to cross the night, I fervently pray that my footprints will never be erased from your skin. Sometimes... no, almost always, I imagine you in my path. I feel your footsteps behind me, I think you're knocking on my door. But when I open it, it's just the wind, or my neighbor asking if everything is alright. And everything is, except me. Sometimes I dream that I tell you the secrets of my childhood. I dream that we have a child, who has your eyes and my awkward smile, and that together we teach him to say "thank you," "please," and "I love you." And sometimes, the cruelest of times, I wake up. And in the silence of the room, only the emptiness you left behind answers me.
And I understand that you're not here, that you're gone forever. But my heart, stubborn and foolish, refuses to stop hoping... Yes, I've stretched this rope that binds us too. I've banged it against sharp corners and sometimes let go of my end, believing the weight was too much. But it's strange: even in those moments of pride and foolishness, something—a thinner, stronger thread—remained. A muffled heartbeat that refused to fade. I love you to the moon and back... Sweet dreams and eat your vegetables...
A veces pienso que aún estás, que en realidad no te fuiste. Que de un momento a otro regresas, me besas la nuca y me susurras: "No estés triste, nene". Que esta realidad es solo un chiste de mal gusto, una pesadilla de la que debo despertar. Y que, aun así, del tamaño del infinito, te gusto.
A veces me trepo en la azotea a mirar las nubes, y en el cielo desfilan los recuerdos. Me recuesto, pienso en ti, y si alguna estrella fugaz se atreve a cruzar la noche, le pido con fervor que de tu piel jamás se borren mis huellas.
A veces... no, casi siempre, te imagino en mi camino. Siento tus pasos detrás de mí, creo que tocas mi puerta. Pero cuando abro, solo es el viento, o mi vecino preguntando si todo está bien. Y todo está, menos yo.
A veces sueño que te cuento los secretos de mi infancia. Sueño que tenemos un hijo, que tiene tus ojos y mi sonrisa torpe, y que juntos le enseñamos a decir "gracias", "por favor" y "te quiero".
Y a veces, la más cruel de todas las veces, despierto.
Y en el silencio de la habitación, solo me responde el vacío que dejaste.
Y comprendo que no estás, que te fuiste para siempre.
Pero mi corazón, terco y necio, se niega a dejar de esperar...
Sí, esta cuerda que nos une la he tensado yo también. La he golpeado contra esquinas filosas y a veces he soltado mi extremo, creyendo que el peso era demasiado. Pero es curioso: incluso en esos momentos de orgullo y necedad, algo —un hilo más fino y resistente— seguía ahí. Un latido sordo que se negaba a apagarse.
Te quiero de aquí a la Luna... Sueña bonito y come verduras...
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thank you so much @hivebuzz
You're on a quest for greatness @wallycr, and we have no doubt that you'll reach your new target soon!
Heartfelt poetic prose with an affable expression of pain in the face of absence or loss. Greetings, @wallycr.
@hive-161465 Thank you so much... it truly was a great loss... which has led me to write again....