El cielo abierto

These texts were born from the need to write about what arrives day by day: people, books, love and its opposite. Also, trains, encounters, the horror of Sundays; the great horizontal enchantment of our summers, extravagance and possible desire: everything that had been demanding words for years and found its place on Instagram little by little—in small, compact brushstrokes—until becoming this story that has always been already beginning. Here, solitude in a hotel room; there, a traveler going to meet the immensity of her life; the bustle of bars and their crowd of gold seekers, and also the sea, glimpsed cities, beginnings and unbearable happiness, the seasons, rumpled sheets, hangovers, waiting, the misfortune of bodies, childhood, and always, that missing time. Our burning need, like a dynamite, and this single motto that runs from phrase to phrase: "Hold on tight, and above all, don't give up any of your joy." When we face the great fires, at least we'll have had that: the beer, the salt, and the dimness of a room where we walked barefoot; our sleepless nights with half-closed eyes and the dawn already at thirty-two degrees; the sheets flapping in the wind outside and the blue of the sea; our fights and your kidneys turned to dust. Those are enough memories for ten novels and our two lives.