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Most likely, you’d have asked me to rewrite all this in Spanish, so that you could’ve understood each and every word. And you’d have been right. It makes no sense to type these lines in a language that isn’t ours.
But then again, it may not be too coherent pretending I’m writing to you either, when you’re not here anymore.
Too many miles in between, have achieved the impossible: that I couldn’t be there to say goodbye. The bittersweet irony, of a cause for pride that has resulted in having to remember you in the distance, as—almost—always.
You know? Today I’ve done it again. Just like in all those pictures I printed off for you: hiking, cycling, running… doing those things that—between you and me now that we are alone—no-one thought I’d thrive on. Both of us included. “He’s my grandson Carlos”, you’d boast.
And remembering all that, I’ve jumped on my bicycle as usual… but today only for you.
Proud to be a Solís. You’ll never be forgotten.