I wrote! Reader NotesGo to section
By Maria Cabeza
I define the brotherhood: we took 15 months. They asked us if we were twins and we laughed. We had fun with the idea, and we even, sometimes, fantasized that it was one instead of the other somewhere. We never did it, it would have been wonderful!
My older sister. Maria, like me, but Fernanda. We grew up, we play, fight, love, dream and grow old, each in its own way, in its path and with our styles so different but with something we share and that not time has faded: together.
Brotherhood has a bond of love and fraternity . The beach and the sea , could be perfection. I have rivers of stories to tell but I immerse myself in the most descriptive as experiences are only kept by memory.
Maria Fernanda was my opposite: peaceful, literary lover, with a subtle brushstroke made an ocean of incredible drawings, she was good. My sister was so kind and gave so much, so much... that it hurt.
She walked in pink, with her wicker basket that swung from one side to the other while I, dressed in celestial, hit her with my hockey stick to the thorns of a Drunkard Stick. YIN, her, YAN, me.
There are blood and also the ones we choose. I have both of you. My sister is my blood and my friend: she knows my secrets, my unveils and my breakthroats. My loves, my loves! And yours! We also learned to keep things for ourselves; it is not necessary to tell everything. She taught me how to take care of me, not to open until I bleed. I showed him the opposite: “Defend you,” he begged him and the story ended the same: I grabbed the hairs to which he had dared to hunchback her, my imaginary twin, my light in the shadow, my imprint when I was lost.
“You did so much for me, I will never forget it”; when he tells me it comes images that I prefer to forget and sketch a smile to move on, as always.
Today it is my turn to the confession: “Fer, you gave me love when my soul was full of chills, you lent me your ear when everyone covered yours, you loved my son and cradled him as your own. You are my balance, the rationality I can't learn because I win my impulsiveness and sense of justice. You're still writing — don't think that secret I don't know — and you're doing it great! You still trust and bet on dialogue and try to persuade me that Don Quixote was schizophrenic. Well, my windmills... I've knocked down some, tell you. Others... have laid me down but I listened to you and I've drilled some waves, I haven't faced them all.
I love you. I love you how you love a part of your body because it lives in you, like a lullaby that is not forgotten and that recurring dream we have as children only this one, instead of frightening me, brings me calm.
It's a blessing to have you. Your words, your eyes, your silences have been written in eternity.
Publication Date: 05/10/2018
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