Summer arrives, the calendar says school is
over, and I get goosebumps. Even if I’m still miles away, with no idea when or
for how long I’ll be able to return, the scent of the sea salt wraps around me,
and my hair seems to tangle on its own as I count down the days until I can go
back once more. Because there are places that, no matter how far they are, were, are, and
always will be irreplaceable corners of the heart — unforgettable moments in
time.
The good weather is here. All I crave now is
sand and waves, the freedom to drift… And even if I no longer hold the key that lets me cross that threshold again,
that house is still the purest definition of home.
Summers are different now. They’ll never be the
same without you. But returning to those cobbled streets, I can still see you crossing the
estuary with a loaf of bread under your arm. Even if there aren’t as many summer days as before, I still remember the way to
the beach — even with my eyes closed.
And so the days go by, one after another,
crossed off the calendar until, finally, I get in the car and we head north —
to the cold waters that still feel like home.
No one can imagine just how much I miss those moments of slow tans, of the sun turning orange at dusk, of losing track of how many days are left before returning again. An endless summer, just like the morriña that now lives tattooed on my skin.
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