Tato Polanco © 2010
Do Not Copy Or Use.
"THE WINDOW"
The window is open down to the middle, some light rays improperly crossing throught the glasses on a cloudy Sunday because of the need to do nothing.
We could go out the window, stepping on a cloud and begin travel to anywhere we wanted. But the last time I remember you stepped on a beautiful cloud who suggested you to go to your dreams, but you got scared and decided to sit on the chair, at the desk, in the room, in the house, in the neighborhood, the country, in that small world of yours and stay there. Looking out the window again and again, eating your brain, wondering: "When will be the right time to go out?".
Or we could write stories, poems, stories and essays of the ways we could avoid traveling to other worlds. Staying silent while we show that we are perfectly happy to the world, but when you put your head on our pillows... our mind brakes in tears, crying dry and tasteless tears, while we play with the images of what we always wanted be and never had the courage to reach, playing with the images of the windows that we could have used as a springboard to begin to fulfill our dreams.
We could. We could, but in the end we sat. You know what? Why don't you take a picture?
Our eyes spoke for a few seconds, I understood perfectly. I went to the room, I opened my bag, took out the camera and proceeded to photograph the window. After photographing, as if it had been premeditated the whole life: he came flying through that window. Since that day I haven't heard about him.
Since that cloudy day. That cloudy sunday. I open the window in the same way, with the same angle and position. And I hope that at 4:43 pm for him to come back. I'm still waiting. But I know he is chasing his dreams. And I know that maybe he will never return and here me... a coward, will never be able to fly. I'm here everyday.
