Our last memory

Its 2018 and I am in a class where a philosopher is discussed, who until that day for me was closer to a dead person than to a thinking mind. Class is a background sound, as  Sunday's rainy days and my dog's barking that still sounds like everything we could have been.

I look out the window to see people that are late for class, that are escaping with a beer in their hands, that are agile and clumsy, and how they stop and observe the eyes with which they talk. The world is spinning around me, it's between noon and night, it's my last year of college and everything should be at the reach of the blink of an eye.

However, I look at the cobblestones of the streets of San Telmo and I remember an afternoon in 2016, it was from Monday to Friday, it was with my fingers painted in ink and my hair as a curtain. The background sound was the screaming of a cafeteria and the footsteps of an unfinished lunch. I know that the world was expanding while I tried to catch a pain in writing so the rest was of no importance in my desperation to translate.

And it is our last memory, it is me in 2018 with a bitter smile and I in 2016 stopping the expansion of the universe, turning off the annoying sound and continuing to move my fingers while I watched you reach me so that you would say: "Is that your next masterpiece? ".

The class lasted an hour and a half, my friends still had their notes, their lighters and their complaints.

Life continued to happen while I said goodbye to the last forgotten moment of us, that day in 2016 in a cafeteria among several others. At a time when the planet did not rotate, my lungs did not expand, my heart did not burn for you.

One second where all that mattered was that you didn't know that what I was writing was how it hurt not to be able to tell you that I loved you until all my memory was consumed.

 

Ta.