The last memory (Poetic prose)
Painting by De Moya of a photo of my sister
To the memory of my sister
The last memory I have of you is the beach of Araya, a seemingly normal but strange morning.
Fear, which appeared the night before, after episodes of a mystery film, still populated your soul.
Perhaps foreshadowing a future we didn’t know but which was going to be relentless in our lives.
While the music of “Seasons in the Sun” tried to be a catalyst of reality, your tearful eyes lost their gaze, through the windshield, on the waves that arrived gently kissing the shore.
I tried to hug you, as I always did in bad times, but the car seats prevented it.
Our lives were so tied to the stoicism of encouraging us to survive that we had forgotten that we could live without each other’s company.
There was so much uncertainty at that moment that we felt powerless to understand it.
The last memory I have of you is closely tied to abandonment, because without knowing it, those minutes would be the last minutes we would be together.
There was an air of denial and mystery.
Hours later destiny appeared as an executioner and the crystal in which your eyes wandered became the weapon that took your life.
Resignation is a coat that masks what the soul feels and almost half a century after the pain of your departure is still a dagger that bleeds it out.
The last memory I have of you is not the most important nor the one that marked our earthly stay but the one that represented our farewell.