The old steps




old-steps
I no longer harbor hope. I have deepened within me, to the antipodes of my thought, my soul or whatever my skin covers. But I am not standing in a vacuum. Beneath my being an ocean stretches, as immense as it is unbearably calm and dark.

I have written all my stories and novels, an old hobby now disowned. Through my stories I raised all my possible lives, weighing each of the alternatives, traveling each path that pointed to a destination. Surely that's why I have nothing left. I have worn myself out.

My steps lead me without a path through unknown streets of the city where I have always lived. Someone greets me smiling, but I feel that I am diluted between so many strange faces to be a nobody else. I only understand that the end is rushed to the sound of my whistles, which make up a sad improvised melody.

I navigate between ancient memories, drawn from the rehearsal of a life that began a long time ago. They plan in the limbo of my memory sepia images with false captions, synthesizing moments that perhaps never happened.

The remotest part seems crisp, whereas if I try to think about today's main course it seems like I haven't eaten in several years. I comment in a low voice: "alphabet soup."

I come to an old park. I say "old" because I guess I have been there at least one other time. My feet speed up the steps. Now it seems that at all times they had set the path. They moved driven by an "old" instinct.

Two words are stripped in my mind: Carolina and Oak, with such joy that they bristle my skin and awaken my smile.

She awaits me, once again, in the shade of the centenary tree. I know it happens every morning. It is my last request for a prisoner, only that in my case it is a privilege that is repeated every day in the face of the Alzheimer's sentence. I get to be me again above this cruel sentence of oblivion.

My steps culminate their adventure in front of my beloved Carolina, very close to her eyes, serene despite everything.

"Very good darling"

As She kisses me on the cheek, the light falls for a few moments on the ocean, like a brief and wonderful sunrise. I feel alive again.

Being born is not just a matter of arriving in this world for the first time.

"Do we have alphabet soup today?"

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