What was what happened in those four years? I look back and find things like a dream that was apparently too long, confusing, many colors.
spoke of the previous move and what that meant to me to address changes in previous writings (see ). I really thought that the house that it would be for many years. Not so.
Cracks began six months of reaching it. With a serious health problem in one of my children, no time had to pay attention. Of course, the cracks became a topic of conversation and find new, a habit of treasure hunters. Later, however, things worsened. I got to look outside, literally, through a crack.
to chronicle the destruction of my home would be long and tedious. Many also know the details. Were six times the construction of the house intervened to point us out or wrap it all six times they opened the new cracks. A renowned as an expert engineer who attended the developer could not resist: he said that the house was done in a much worse than those in social housing of its time. The company did not know where to put the head. The
badly compacted ground rearrangements never stopped. Do not forget that the day after a long shower an unseen hand drew a crack in the floor to the ceiling in the kitchen. It was the end, I sought an agreement with the developer, which blows my mind and I her, I returned my money and established a period of unemployment. For its part, the company settled the debt. I wonder who the lucky patched to occupy my house.
always say that I was never entirely happy in that place and may not be so bad. What happens is that something I said that was not my place. I do not know. I also resented the time that separated me from home to anywhere else. I could not think of going places or seeing friends all lived at the opposite end of town. They enjoyed no But stunning landscapes of both heaven and in the mountains of the west (sunsets go), my children were fortunate to only cross a small street to play with his friends in the park and I made friendships that can last between neighbors with I spoke almost no culture except Elia, historical responsibility that we went for our bones to that area which is within walking distance of rural areas. A Truth Commission against a good dinner and drinks will soon to judge the author of Ivaginaria.
That was the last home that my mother stepped in life. Also, where the smallest of my children left behind his weak condition. Allí recibí a todas las personas que realmente me interesan y a las que nunca les importó la distancia y, lo puedo decir ahora, allí también no escribí absolutamente nada de interés a excepción de algo de narrativa. A esa casa, el poeta no llegó con la mudanza anterior. Ojalá vuelva.
Nunca tuve los libros a la mano ni acomodados y, por mucho tiempo, me pregunté qué haría con tanto lío económico. De ese lugar mi perra de muchos años se fue enferma para no volver y llegó un sustituto que, de tan febril, rasguñaba las paredes hasta hacerles pozos. También, tuve un árbol, que doné a la plaza de la colonia, y unas rosas que, sólo en mi último day, began to scent the air as if we did not start to scream.
is relief and not leaving the house, because it was the dream in common after their children. Now, start again. While we get a new one, we rent an apartment in which many people would freeze the blood: the back of an old cemetery. Even after the window of my room can see the graves, including a Sacred Heart that gives me back. How original.
Seeing this space for the first time, do not hesitate to say yes. The area brings back memories of being children. However, the days I realized what could account for both my children for the child I was: nightmare. Even shortly before I moved I got to comment on how difficult it is to live there at night. I do not know, I suddenly could not bear the idea. The truth, however, is that although it is difficult but I will overcome. No way: everyone fears.
On Monday I went by the last things to the house of the infinite cracks. Almost flung hastily belongings into the van I hired because I felt a sudden melancholy. I stood in the courtyard and last time I felt the cool night air. Before turning off lights and close the room perceived as a whole: there was that of my children, still smelling of new, laughter and their early years together and for me, absolutely eternal. There was also the room where my wife loved, enjoyed movies and television, I cried the devastating death of mother and where ever, ever dreamed.
He stayed so that was my study and sighs of vacuum to the space in which nothing but dust was conceived.
killed the lights, locked the door and looked at the house one last time. Nothing I said was lost time, been in the overwhelming passage of the hours, the addition and subtraction. Whatever one you own and what never was legitimate property.
Road to the house by the cemetery, cigar in hand and feeling the chill of night, I was struck by a doubt. Something that maybe should not share because it has no foundation, but that only by thinking intrigues me: what if the truck away the last time the house turned on its lights, the cracks gradually disappeared, the grass is lit and roses stopped screaming and raised a little more?
0 comments:
Post a Comment