I would have loved to build a home by your side.
To see 50% of you
and 50% of me
running through a house
that will never be.
I lied when I said I didn’t want children.
From day one,
I was already imagining their little nose like yours,
and that tiny world
fitting in my arms.
I also saw myself in white.
With a veil,
eyes closed,
holding your hand.
Proud
of a love
that, to me,
was real.
A home called “us.”
Sheets on the floor on a Saturday,
legs intertwined,
hands holding each other without hurry.
And now I write this
that I will never send you.
Because there are things
that are also love
even if they remain in silence.
Yes, I stayed waiting for you.
A message,
a sign,
any hint
that you were thinking it too.
I even prayed to God
to bring you back to me.
I wanted to tear my heart out
just to stop feeling this.
Your name still falls
like a blow to my back.
It paralyzes me.
And sometimes I feel
like I won’t be able to move forward.
But I know
that’s not true.
I know I was brave.
That I loved without measure,
without fear.
And that, even if it wasn’t forever,
it was real.
Very real to me.
Photography by Ignacio Isaac Soto // Developed and scanned by Dichroic Film Lab
