izbirakanlar

 The last time I saw you, that I touched you and kissed you furtively, was at the Príncipe Pío train station. We had walked (and drank a lot of beer and even danced with other people in a square) for a good part of the night, and now that another day was beginning, it was your turn to take a train running to a town in the mountains where your daughter was, in the care of a friend, ex of your ex. Chains of care, tangled loves.

I saw you cross the turnstile, so, so beautiful, and make Phone Number List brief gesture of barely turning your head towards me before immersing yourself on the escalator, one more moment of our vibrating body before who knows how long...A while before, at an improvised breakfast at home (just black coffee and cherries, your favorite fruit), I had heard you cry quietly for a little while, contained and at the same time uncontrollable, when suddenly you needed to explain to me the anguish at the end of the previous night before my signs of a cold.



You remembered your mother's illness and death, in dizzying sequence: the day you heard her cough and insisted that she get checked, the day she was diagnosed with Covid-19, the day she was admitted to the hospital and you could no longer see her, just talk to her on the phone. You blamed yourself for not having been able to see her before, when that possibility existed, believing that there would be a day later.