"It is necessary to the happiness of man that he be mentally faithful to himself. Infidelity does not consist in believing or in disbelieving, it consists in professing to believe what one does not believe." [Tom Paine, The age of reason, 1794; pt. i]
I understand that the only thing that can help me is to walk through the pain, and take it anywhere but inside me.
I debate myself the morality of writing about Lucia, but if i don't write about her, ¿Who will? And i'm scared, because i don't want to publish it, it can be mine forever, and only mine if it helps me be closer to her, and i do not want to lose that freedom, because once is published, is no longer mine. All the things i felt, will be changed forever by people, and by time, but she will live forever, long past my death.
Maybe someday, and i am being optimistic, it can be me without her, but in the meantime, there is a chest full of questions trapped inside my body, and only i can create the answers. ¿Why didn't you tell me you had lost all hope? No... if you had told me I still would have them... but i don't know when was the last time you looked at me and i was able to see in your eyes that you wanted to hold on to life. I don't remember the last time you looked at me for a few seconds too long, or asked me to fix lunch, or for us to sit together to just talk.
I understand and i could see it, maybe because we lived together and only us, that since we moved to this apartment you were dominated by anguish. At the beginning you let out your tears at dawn, and if i was there i could hear you and i couldn't not go, and i would give you a hug and just that, because you never told me why you were suffering so much, and I, was the only thing i knew how to offer you, and we shared the silence until the last tear fell, when you would get away from me to look at me, and you would nod, knewing i would understand that it was over, and i would go back to my room and think that, in spite of everything, everything was all right.
One day you stopped crying, and every morning you woke up with hollow eyes, time passed and the flower you were, withered, until you stopped looking at the sun, not waiting for the morning, gathering the strength to move away, once and for all, towards something that wasn't nothingness.
When you were gone, i started to write, about your essence, a deity touching the sea towards the boulevard, and i believe, in this precise moment, that every word we spoke, was truth. You now belong to eternity, with all the music you ever listened, and i belong to earth, where i can share all the songs. I know i haven't told much about you, but, ¿Isn't that what people reading needs to discover?
I'm sitting at the window, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes, today i decided to publish, today you belong to the world.
