Friday, October 5, 2018



     This dawn woke me up a dream of a memory of almost 40 years. My eyes were full of tears and a sense of loss of already gone times, like scenes that fade into a dense haze and disappear. They were classmates from the Preuniversity.
   With their blue skirts uniforms and the tapes that adhered to them according to the year, girls and boys paraded as they were in their youth.
   I was on the steps of the Pre and watched as some of the friends who walked towards the mist and vanished walked.
   I could identify Arlen or Carlota my beautiful friend in whose balcony of her house we were discussing about Freud and Heminguey, to the Cisneros with her eternal mother vigilante-high with adorable legs-to Margarita, to Izet, discreet and intelligent, to Laila the mad girl, to Nelly Fernandez Mafú with her beautiful and hieriatic face, whom I loved in silence, my friend Loforte, my other partner Philip, black and tall, the male Pilots and others.
   Then I began to reflect on the dream. It was the scene of our glorious youth gone forever. From our best stage of life in which life seemed like a lawn where we wallowed among flowers full of happiness.
  Now those times are in the memory. Scattered throughout the world, my companions suffer even the tearing of exile even though they have already settled with their families in new lands.
  That's why I cried. For the times gone that dragged me to a glorious past that the wind took.

We were so happy and we did not realize it.


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