Natacha G. Mendoza
Lover of art and literature. He lives in the Canary Islands, where he finds the inspiration to write.
Photograph by José Miguel Martín Ordoño
I have stopped writing. Maybe I shouldn't tell you, but you're gone and talking alone has always been good for me. Sometimes I forget your absence, that's why I continue as if nothing happened. I smile remembering our talks, the jokes and also the anger. No one will be able to enrage me like you did. And it is that passion of mine, you know, for everything, irrepressible. Yes, sometimes I forget that you will no longer hear my laugh, or this voice that decays between so much silence. It is that time makes everything mechanical, and getting out of the habit will not be easy. I was telling you that I no longer write. I lost something that is between desire and inspiration. I still can't identify it. I do not care. I've been in that state of pause for a while. I know that the world goes on, despite everything that happens. Time accompanies it. And here I am, stopped in one of the windows that looks out to one of the streets of this city. With a cup of tea, which I will forget and cool. Yes, here I am, in the same place where you left me.