For The Ones Who Left Their Soul
‘What do you see?’ I asked the person next to me. I didn’t know who it was, but it didn’t matter. Nothing did, except the old building that was standing before me.
‘A house. Why, what do you see?’
‘A soul’
‘I think you need to see a doctor. Houses don’t have souls.’
‘I don’t see its soul. I see mine.’
I was sure of it. Even if it sounded crazy. I could see my heart in my old room, full of frozen memories, that were going to remain there forever. All my life was written on its walls and made everything harder. I didn’t know if I was prepared to leave all the things that happened behind. It was like getting rid of pieces of my own life.
I was thinking about the past, and I couldn’t believe that so much time had passed and so little remained. I felt more and more insecure about the future and about myself with every second that was going away. Like my life was skipping forward and I wanted to play it on repeat.
It took me a while to realize just how cowardly I was and how much I needed to change. And I also started to realize that life is nothing more but a collection of endless memories, regrets and hopes. And that if I had selfsame memories, I had to get rid of them.
And suddenly, I wanted to leave. I felt like I was taking a step forward, leaving the past behind, in the empty house that was calling for me. I wasn’t the one who closed the door and I didn’t want to be. I was determined to leave there the regrets I had, along with the dust that was laying on what was left of the furniture.
The windows, still open, were crying under the blowing of the wind that was trying to comfort them with its chills, failing. I told myself that someone should close them, but I wasn’t brave enough to enter there and see the past, because I would have lost even the last fragment of sense that I had.
I let the door wait for me and I was hoping that the painting on the walls was going to fade off, along with my regrets. The furniture squeaked its sorrow until the last moment, and maybe even after that, but I didn’t stay long enough to listen.
I was moving on. Getting over it.
And still holding on.