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The repeating island

Tuesday, March 3
The repeating island

    ¿Cómo habré de llamarme cuando sólo me quede 
    recordarme, en la roca de una isla desierta?
    Julia de Burgos

All those irreplaceable women and men that said: "I do not want to go away". 

All them stayed. And then they saw their friends abandoning the island, one by one. 

One day, there were no more friends from their generation, so they started to make younger fellows. These also left. The same story repeated over and over. But they never got tired of saying goodbye. More important, they never got tired of welcome a new, out of the blue, friendship. 

Nobody said it, or maybe some one did, but the fact is that they stayed to be part of other people's life. Their own life, in a way, was already lost, wasted, in that place without future or past. However, they were a huge influence in other people's future, once those got out of the island. 

It was their experience of years and years of obstinacy, their records of small differences in the environment of the island, through decades of observation, what made of them such a valuable source. 

Their memories. Their wrinkled skin. Their capacity of remain still in the shore. Like stones. 

Would you like to see their faces? Their arms? Their stuffed smiles?

First published by Arsenio Rodriguez 


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This is a bilingual blog, bad lingual one, of the writer Lizabel Monica. Powered by Blogger.

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