El humo y el olvido Smoke and oblivion

Escrito por: Francisco
29 septiembre, 2017


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El humo y el olvido

Pasear era una de sus actividades favoritas. Aprendió a observar sin prisa, acariciando las cosas con la mirada, concediéndoles todo el tiempo del mundo. Le gustaba perderse por caminos solitarios, en los que desaparecía la distancia entre él y lo que le rodeaba. Los atardeceres le ayudaron a aprender a amar los tonos azulados y rosa de las nubes cuando se acercaba la hora bruja, la hora en la que solo se distinguen siluetas y el sol se despide en un descuido silencioso y amable. Aprendió a estar solo, algo casi tan difícil como aprender a vivir. Era extremadamente sensible y delicado. Ese era el principal motivo por el que su padre no llegó a quererle nunca.
Se olvidó de que, a veces, muy de tarde en tarde, su cuerpo se negaba a acompañarle. Tenía ausencias. Y en uno de sus placenteros paseos, sus piernas se negaron a continuar sosteniéndole. La vereda por la que transcurrían sus pasos recibió su inerte cuerpo con la extraña sorpresa de lo inesperado. Era un atardecer silencioso, y los alegres tonos azules y rosados de las nubes adquirieron un brillo especial cuando sus ojos expectantes los contemplaban desde el suelo. No pensó en nada. Inmóvil, su frágil cuerpo paralizado dejó de existir, pero sus sentidos se mantenían más despiertos que nunca. Cuando su mente reaccionó, pensó que como el humo se desvanece, así uno deja de existir, desaparece sin dejar rastro, vivir en el olvido.
Reunió en uno todos sus pensamientos: sobrevivir. Un atisbo de esperanza vino a él en forma de recuerdo. Alguien iba a acudir esa noche a su casa. Alguien que sabía su afición por pasear por estos parajes solitarios, y existía la posibilidad de que viniera a buscarlo.
Pasaron varias horas y después de haber sucumbido al desaliento, vio a lo lejos una luz que se aproximaba. Pensó que, por esta vez, el humo y el olvido le habían concedido una tregua.

Smoke and oblivion

Walking was one of his favorite activities. He had learned to watch without a hurry, caressing things with his eyes, granting them all the time in the world. He liked to get lost in solitary paths, in which the distance between him and his surroundings disappeared. The sunsets helped him learn to love the bluish and pink tones of the clouds as the witch hour approached, the time when only the silhouettes can be seen and the sun dismisses in a silent and gentle carelessness. He learned to be alone, something almost as difficult as learn to live. He was extremely sensitive and delicate. That was the main reason his father never loved him.
He forgot that sometimes, very rarely, his body refused to accompany him. He was absent. And in one of his pleasant walks, his legs refused to continue holding him. The path through which he walked through received his body with the surprise from the unexpected. It was a silent sunset, and the bright blue and pink tones of the clouds took on a special glow when his expecting eyes watching them from the ground. He did not think of anything. Immobile, his fragile body ceased to exist, but his senses was preserved better than ever. When his mind reacted, he thought that in the same way the smoke fades, the human being ceases to exist, disappears without a trace, living in oblivion.
He gathered all his thoughts into one: surviving. A hint of hope came to him in the form of a memory. Someone was coming to his house that night. Someone who knew his fondness for the walk on these solitary places, and there was the possibility that he could come to look for it.

Several hours passed, and after I had succumbed to discouragement, he saw in the distance a coming light. He thought that, this time, the smoke and oblivion had concede him a truce.

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