The summer that year hasn’t been much of a summer all over the world. Just arrived from a trip across the ocean it was time for a not so pleasant trip.
The car was packed or stuffed would have been the proper word. The road was wet (I think it was), the tank was full. It was another goodbye. How many have I lived so far? Too many, enough to almost having lost count, but this one was different, this one was strange. Feelings of joy conflicted with feelings of sadness, and loss was stamped and could be smelled all over. A deep breath, repeating to myself it’s gonna be OK, everything will be fine, it’s only for a few months and then the next trip will be one of joy, of realization of a dream. Even today I am not sure if I really believed those words.
Tears were being kept inside, eyes shining from maybe the sun (which provided a very good excuse). I so wanted to stay, or maybe be sure you were coming with me and staying. But truth is I was leaving and you would stay. And in all my pessimism I never thought it would be this way. As I got into the car and you sat by my side the beginning of this tale was being set: 365 days without you and maybe so many more to come.
The car was packed or stuffed would have been the proper word. The road was wet (I think it was), the tank was full. It was another goodbye. How many have I lived so far? Too many, enough to almost having lost count, but this one was different, this one was strange. Feelings of joy conflicted with feelings of sadness, and loss was stamped and could be smelled all over. A deep breath, repeating to myself it’s gonna be OK, everything will be fine, it’s only for a few months and then the next trip will be one of joy, of realization of a dream. Even today I am not sure if I really believed those words.
Tears were being kept inside, eyes shining from maybe the sun (which provided a very good excuse). I so wanted to stay, or maybe be sure you were coming with me and staying. But truth is I was leaving and you would stay. And in all my pessimism I never thought it would be this way. As I got into the car and you sat by my side the beginning of this tale was being set: 365 days without you and maybe so many more to come.
Almost a year later
Some days those 550 km between us are just that: an accumulation of metric measurements. Some days it was an unbearable pain, an endless distance that threatened to never go away. Experience told me to never get used to it, never allow distance to be a companion in this journey, rather a foe that will stab you in the back while holding your hand smiling.
So here I sit today surrounded by a rhapsody of feelings and flavors and sounds and aromas: love, pain, passion, desire, disappointment, hope and fatality. Losing you can be a blessing or a curse but until the fatty lady sings I shall continue to do what I know best:
Work myself to death, write myself to sleep, love myself to madness!
This will be a story about me, about you, about us. This will be me, 550 Km away from you, trying my best to get you closer. This story will be me.
So here I sit today surrounded by a rhapsody of feelings and flavors and sounds and aromas: love, pain, passion, desire, disappointment, hope and fatality. Losing you can be a blessing or a curse but until the fatty lady sings I shall continue to do what I know best:
Work myself to death, write myself to sleep, love myself to madness!
This will be a story about me, about you, about us. This will be me, 550 Km away from you, trying my best to get you closer. This story will be me.
