El Hierro IV

I think I have never been more aware of what this island means to me than in this last trip that I have allowed myself to make, a whole series of corners that, not because I had not already seen them, do not cease to make me feel special, for fifty thousand different reasons.

Walking along paths of stones that are waiting for the slightest opportunity to break your soles, making you stumble and bump into sharp edges that remind you how fragile your skin is in certain conditions, stopping the car in one of the countless breaks that are in these narrow roads, letting the wind shake the car door, making an effort to win the game to that air of which you already deny because it brings the calima, that desert dust that stings your sight or maybe it is the salt of the water that is all the time struggling to jump higher and higher as it breaks through the rocks, in which I insist on walking, on the shore of this ocean that keeps reminding me who is the owner and lord of what surrounds me.

Strolling alone, for hours, barely talking to myself, full of silences that sometimes I break with the music of the car, if I am lucky that some radio station stays connected for some time, or rather with some exclamation, rather a rancor, what is said a good and gentlemanly cue, perhaps even, I allow myself to talk to myself about how stupid I have become in certain circumstances, and then, as it cannot be otherwise, I defend myself, I limit myself to see the situation from the perspective of time, not that one that they say that cures everything, no, of that nothing at all, but of time, this one, that makes me see things with more coldness, more objectivity, or at least, with more answers and certainties that I lacked at the beginning.

Yes, it is true, I am walking alone, without hardly finding people in my path, perhaps avoiding them in some way, who knows, but it is true that this self-imposed solitude, which must be watched, because in certain doses it is good, but if I get used to it … I do not think that the life of a hermit would be my most vital goal.

I like people, don’t misunderstand, mainly the opposite of my gender, come on, those incredibly disconcerting and wonderful beings…ok, ok, I’ll end up saying that they are women, are you happy? Well, I like them, which is undoubtedly the reason for so many scars, not all of them, but not a few, and that, on this trip to this island, which I have already named a couple of corners, sorry, I deviated from the subject, well that, that there are not few scars caused by them, but that on this trip … they are making me smile more than tears to remember them.

The first one, the one that made four, the one that was the last, the antepenultimate, the one that I will never have, the one that is only in my fantasy, the one that only comes to me in a reading of a poem, in that movie that you only see it for the scene in which she appears….

They are scars that, in some cases still used to hurt me, I still used to fix my eyes on the time they started, surprised by how they had not yet healed properly, as if it were an outstanding debt, but it was not so, deep down, and I have discovered it here, it was me who refused to heal, as if I were a masochist, with the pain that causes you pleasure, that feeling that I never understood, but I was not aware that I was practicing it.

You know who I am, all the imperfect things that accompany me, and yet…. you are still there with me, accompanying me to a new adventure beyond an ocean, you allow yourself the pleasure of sending me seven-minute audios, dissecting me as few people are capable, you thank me for sharing one of my pleasures, taking pictures, with the fact of helping you to be known beyond the networks, you encourage me to continue writing, pouring in a few lines everything I feel, you, who has already published several books and of which I declare myself, a mere fan …

And I could go on, you know that you are there, among that group of wonderful beings that have achieved, that a walk among sharp stones, a wind that makes me cry, hours of self-imposed solitude, of only exclaiming rancor, of more and more, of more moments between virtual pages, between hours of work, of who knows what corner or special moment you could be in, you have managed to never make me think of feeling alone, because you have always been there, making me smile, warming my soul a little, making me dream, smiling to see me.

I know who I am, someone lucky because you are there, in a thousand and one different ways, in a thousand and one concrete moments, in a thousand and one details that arise.

And if you don’t know it yet…

Have I told you that I love you?

*** Translated with http://www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version) ***

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