Memory of a Perfect Day Sitting next to the window, with the sun on my back, eyes open but distant look, I started to think about how it would be to have a perfect day from the beginning to end. With this on mind, it came to my head the memory of a summer sunday, not much time ago, in wich in a bizarre desire of recall a part of my infancy, I asked my dad to go to walk through the park, like we used to do when I was a little girl.
We walk for hours through the lonely and quiet streets, looking beautiful houses, dreaming someday we could live in one of them, talking I don't know what exactly and enjoying the warm sun and the cool breeze. When we decided to go back home, we took the bus, the only one that lead us home and when we were passing through the bridge, with the sun hiding in front of the window, the light in our faces and river water glowing under us, I, taken of his arm, rest my head upon his shoulder and smiled, and then I just knew I was happy. There weren't noisy laughs, there weren't big laughters, not even we needed a look; in that moment of silence and enormous simplicity, next to my father I felt a total happiness, a joy that didn't know about preoccupations or didn't fear for the ephemeral that joy itself is.
The truth is that I don't remember much about what happened before the walk or after we return home, but that moment on the bus is probably the most precious memory inside the trunk of little pieces of memories that I keep in some place of my being, and that now, I began to write them by fear that with time I finish them forgetting...
0 comentarios: