The Wounds That Take Us Away

I am in a tower where everything is concrete with columns and roofs without details; it is a place that spreads a real melancholy of a dream that began and was abandoned by the dreamer.

This skeleton has the finest view of a horizon of fertile land to be cultivated. It is an emotion that trembles in my chest when I climb the dark steps; I follow the glow that seeps in from the top floor.

The landscape is revealed when I leave behind each level of the structure, I can feel that atmosphere that darkens me and I am adopting.

She surprises me when I see the line that separates paradise and earth; her steps on the stairs make me turn around. She stops and stares at me over her shoulder.

“I promised to wait for you,” I said.

She leans her head looking at the emptiness, then drags her eyes and looks at the floor that awaits her on the next stairs and continues her way.

I follow her until we reach the rooftop, and she stands on the edge of the tower. I kept my distance.

“In every dream you find me,” she said extending her leg out of the edge and holding her slipper with her fingertips.

“Come with me,” I get closer, but she drops the slipper and stops me, “why are you running away when I find you?”

She turns around, stares at me with her expressionless eyes and throws herself off the cliff.

“Please don’t give up.” I said holding her arm.

I help her up, and we sit on the edge. She remains agitated with her gaze on the ground, catches her breath and turns to me.

“Will you ruin it?” She said.

“No,” I replied shaking my head, “and you?”

“Neither,” she smiles.

She walks along the roof of the tower prowling its corners and stands to look at the horizon. The sun illuminates the huge treetops in the forest and her beautiful figure with her hair lifted by the wind.

“Our lives have always been shrouded in sadness,” I said.

“Why do you talk as if you understand what I have lived through?”

“I was there, in all of your dreams I saw you and I’ve also felt it, you know it,” I replied, “I followed you here where everything ends to return to you.”

“This place is yours like mine,” she hesitates and leans her head to find her thoughts, “who are we? Why do we always meet?”

I also have the same questions, but if this is our creation and we always meet, it is because we are together in this.

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Please leave your comments if you like to contribute to improve the translation of this story. I’ll be very greatful.

Publicado por

Carlos Reeves

Soy como cualquier otro que le gusta leer y escribir, no estudié literatura y tampoco sé de grandes autores. La razón por la que comencé a escribir es porque desde niño tomaba esos cuadernos Scribe de hoja blancas y dibujaba todo el día. Esos personajes y escenarios empezaron a tener una narrativa, entonces tuve que escribir sus historias y saber dónde terminarían. Tengo problemas para concentrarme, si un colibrí vuela por mi ventana me la puedo pasar observando cómo se alimenta de las flores, incluso si se va, pareciera que me lleva con él a un mundo imaginario. Soy perfeccionista, escribir es un trabajo duro. Poseo una rivalidad contra las palabras y los renglones que conspiran en mi contra, paso horas editando y leyendo para aplacar su rebeldía. Antes me limitaba ocultarlos después de escribirlos, temía que lo leyeran y vieran semejante lío. Pero todo cambió cuando descubrí que hay personas que pasaron por las mismas rebeliones. Keanu Reeves, Steve Jobs y Scott Fitzgerald. Soy un soñador, no un escritor.

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