Nine years ago, Alma left me for ever. “You won’t see me again,” she said that night. We were in the port and her boat ready to sail. I just remember her under the big straw hat could be a slight smirk, “don’t worry, you are able to survive without me,” she said while her entire silhouette was fading into the thick morning fog and smoke bow.

I remained her undaunted, not daring to look around or to leave the place wishing that Alma returned to me as she did so often.

We’d been friends since I have consciousness and memories. There were not milestone in my life in which she would no been: always calm, always smiling at me, knowing that I could count with her.

“Alma is here, you’re safe”

It was a kind of a dark friendship, constant dependence. An ever-close presence, always combined with my being. She is my half without it, I was alone and lost. And there she was, saying goodbye with her hands without shedding a tear and knowing that nothing would be like yesterday. Among the morning fog I could contemplate her face looking to the horizon, probably with that smile that always showed her lips: pride, a satisfied smile and those eyes, defiant and courageous.

How could I not admire her if she was totally antagonistic to me, if she was all that I wanted to be? However, Me, with my weak constitution, with eyes of death and lips of ice, fluffy and messy hair and a shapeless figure, I hid behind her felling panic to see me and so dismount all databases my almost non-existent self-esteem.

Alma was me and I was Alma. She always stood by my side, giving me strength to fight the world, to fight against Nature: she was a wild, violent and unjust woman lunged everyone and everything. She was a giant woman of enormous body and cherry eyes, long nose and a large mouth always open, which is always hiding in the bushes in the forest. When Alma and I were walking together watching the swallows flying in perfect harmony, we met her, I may see it regulates, I wanted to runaway and never come back, but Alma faced her, the conversation was long and extensive, full of aggressive contents and allusions to Death but I would not listen. It was so sad to remember the lost of a great friend, Death, what happened to her?, also left me, as Alma nine years ago. She also disappeared in the darkness of the night, moisture, lake reflecting her figure: seriously convinced and said “Do not worry, one day you will see me again” Death, tall, slender woman, long black hair and coal eyes, mysterious lady who in all parts of this great world you saw was a constant presence, a faithful friend who knew everything and everything she had; so bitter is your memory.

Nature reminded me why, why come to alive again her existence in my mind?

I crouched, covering my ears with my hands behind Alma; I was at her feet and looked at her with tears into my eyes, falling to the ground and then shoots out of the ground. Does the Pain create Life? Nature took advantage of my sadness to rebuild her inn, my tears were the tiles that gradually sprang from the fertile ground.

Alma was furious, like a rabid dog ready to catch its prey, skin him alive. And as I so weak at his feet helplessly, crying uncontrollably. Then I heard, Nature spoke to me and shouted “Human, stand up”.

But, how can I get up without Alma?

Submit to FacebookSubmit to Twitter

Utilizamos cookies para asegurarte la mejor experiencia en nuestro sitio web. Más info