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Fight of Opposites
Do you remember that night when we climbed the stairs of the plane and the dearest hands remained dancing behind the customs line, like dry leaves surprised by the whirlpool, waving goodbye and wishing good luck, in a last attempt not to cry too much? Do you remember that we tore each other apart, when we were left alone, with insults and reproaches during the nine hours of the trip? And when you realized that you couldn't with me, you called the doubts and fears.
So I asked for help from the sun that Sunday morning that was waiting for us in Madrid, as naive and playful as all the suns in the world. While you insisted on being my enemy and brandishing all the swords, the custom that was on your side and a swarm of silences that threatened to corner me, in those corners of the world where I didn't know anyone.
But in the same way that the facades of the buildings get wet when it rains, I was solving riddles and finding the keys, the streams of the forest are always fed by springs and the birds do not wait for the winter where they spent the spring.
I touched up the makeup for each doubt and turned it into reasons, I looked the fears straight in the eye, and they took off their masks, they were nothing more than opportunities. As security moved into my ranks, you changed tack and put the ego looking like a startled deer right under my nose.
You intended to push me through those trails where you cross the forest of life more calmly, without so many shocks, to wait for the day of departure without the saving touch of a hand, to have absolutely nothing to regret, for not having had enough courage to love anyone.
And then you realized that it was tied very tightly to the mast of the principles and your siren songs passed by with the complaints and excuses typical of cowards. Now you go by my fully trained hand, obedient to the halter that I grasp every morning, like the giant dazzled by the courage and cunning of his master little finger, in the story of the French Laboulaye. You finally know that the worst of your heads hangs on the walls of the living room of my house and that you shouldn't be called Soledad, rather Wait, whenever you have to deal with daredevils.
