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Buscar
  • Gerardo Javier Garza Cabello

Eternal sunshine



If I could manipulate the continuity of time, I would embark on a quest to find a crack that would allow me to revisit that time when we danced, our bodies almost embracing. I'd relish the opportunity to once again touch the fabric of that purple dress with my fingertips, gaze into your eyes a little longer, and etch into my memory how your skin's scent intertwined with your perfume. The cascading tresses of your hair, the rhythm of the melody, your eyes locked on mine.

Then, I'd pause for a moment, examining the depths of my soul where the essence of this memory now resides. I'd create a space where everything around us would dissolve, the noise would gradually fade, leaving me to gaze where you were not.

I would rummage through the imaginary drawers where I keep our shared history, seeking the dusty fragments of our whispered laughter on that day. Your intoxicating smile would flood back into my consciousness. I'd recall the way you used to hush my voice with your index finger, urging me to cease talking and simply dance with you. I'd remember the chill of your touch, yet the warmth it radiated. I'd shed a few tears in homage to nostalgia and contemplate the beauty of being able to assure that woman from my memories of my enduring devotion, despite the knowledge that our time together might be fleeting.

With absolute certainty, I'd plant a kiss, savouring the full flavour of those lips. I'd explore your face and inhale your fragrance deeply. I'd engage in a dialogue with myself, pondering why the enchantment had to fade, and ultimately, I'd find no justifiable reasons. I'd start to feel vulnerable and aged. In the end, I'd acknowledge that the magic hadn't departed; it was us who had drifted away.

In my solitude, I'd endure numerous torments contemplating the high price I've paid as part of my life's penance. As I closed my eyes, I'd reimagine the sensation of your fingertip silencing my eager lips. That gentle touch would be enough to bring me back to the present, where the weight of sleepless nights would carve lines of experience onto my face. I'd question if it had all been worthwhile, and realize that although the answers may change, the essence of the questions remains. I'd discover new facets of solitude that had remained concealed from me before. In the end, I'd begin the process of forgiving myself.

Then, I'd retrace my steps to that purple dress and its cascading tresses. I'd come to realize, in my ignorance, that some vivid memories remain, places where fragrances and sensations from our shared history still reside. Fearlessly, I'd explore these places, as there can be no more anguish than what I've already endured. It would be then that the true purpose of remembrance would become clear to me.

All the while, I'd continue to observe you from a distance, through the minutiae that survive our conversations, through the children's tasks, the summer clothes, and the anecdotes and stories of the offspring who weathered our storms. Each time, the things I inevitably miss would weigh a little less on my heart, such as the way you danced while preparing a meal and the songs you hummed while making the bed. I would learn to embrace what's mine and leave behind what will belong to someone else.

In this unceasing journey, as I continually observe you from afar, I'd come to understand that our history isn't a mere excuse but a reason to strive for new laughter, new narratives, and new stories, worthy of being encapsulated within the bubbles of my memory.


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