The Farewell

I

      The following events occurred just before leaving.

      I still remember Julia. I do not know properly how much I remember, but I remember her name. I remember that night when we kiss each other for the first time. I also remember when, being in the dark cinemas, I put my hand in her pants. And she was very grieve and told me to stop, but I did not and they kicked us out. I also remember that she later told me it was a lie, and I sneaked into her house.

      When I knew I had to leave, and when there were only hours to go, I realized the horror of the goodbyes. And how difficult it is to get on stage. And I wrote a passage, a letter that I delivered later, a letter that doesn't even pinch salt if she have read it. But I do know one thing. Or a few, and I know them because I remember them. Her beautiful face, her tender face, will always be with me. And her voice, that from when to when, when the earth rises and there is an explosion so close that the dissonant and deafening beep enters through my ears and my companions die, it reaches me, singing her tender mantra. So soft and sweet, whispering and growling like that rabid dog from when I was a child that I also remember.

      And that happened when we were both eighteen years old. Thought I left just I reached the nineteens, she already had the age of matured.

      On the Alps, I feel how the cold tilts my cheek. This afternoon the icy breeze of the sun sweeps the break of the mountain and it is inevitable to remind me of hers heavy curls. The burning and astral sun as her sleeping skin. The sad, dark and passionate rain like the starry and dark space of a dream to his serious and cold voice without oxygen. The arpeggios of the old guitar branded memories like an enclosed cricket. The smell of boiling water ventilating her bare legs, the hair of a spring sprouting from her basins. And hot evenings like the sheets between us.