Desempolvo un texto escrito hace mucho tiempo, en la modalidad del poema en prosa, con influencias literarias (y hasta cinematográficas) que se difuminan en él, inclinado hacia un carácter abstracto y fantástico. Ahora sale de su condición de inédito.

I am dusting off a text written a long time ago, in the modality of the prose poem, with literary (and even cinematographic) influences that are blurred in it, inclined towards an abstract and fantastic character. Now it comes out of its unpublished condition.

Amó la incertidumbre.

Cerraba los ojos para tratar de ver pasar su sombra, rondando cada rastro vivido con la liviandad de su pensamiento. Y regresar siempre a este extraño lugar. Sospechaba, sin embargo, que un aleteo cualquiera podía volverlo a las enmarañadas ramas henchidas de verde y viento. Engarzar su paso a los rayos solares extraviados en los perfiles de los tejados era un peligro inminente en su andar.

Por ello, ingenuamente miraba a cada momento los rostros de los apremiantes seres, buscando en ellos los emblemas de lo esperado, ataviados de su inexpresividad. Se soltaba a una especie de deriva, soterradamente elegida por el azar, que le hacía encontrar aperturas insondables, inclinarse sobre los hombros insostenibles. Y en ese dejarse andar por cada instante reencontraba su punto de partida.

Aquel día el extravío había aparecido con su ritmo asordinado. Su piel se coloreaba de una transparencia de rocío y las palpitaciones tomaban el curso de sus pies. Sentía la brevedad de los parpadeos rozando su sueño. Y se dispuso a recostarse de las raíces del recuerdo más cercano. Experimentó la proximidad de una convicción –la única para su abismal existencia–, que llegó con la violencia de un brillo irrenunciable.

He loved uncertainty.

He closed his eyes to try to see his shadow pass by, hovering over every trace lived with the lightness of his thought. And always return to this strange place. He suspected, however, that a anyone flutter could return him to the tangled branches full of green and wind. To catch his step in the sun's rays strayed in the profiles of the roofs was an imminent danger in his gait.

Therefore, he naively looked at every moment at the faces of the pressing beings, searching in them for the emblems of the expected, dressed in their inexpressiveness. He would let himself drift in a kind of drifting, soterrically chosen by chance, which made him find unfathomable openings, leaning on unsustainable shoulders. And in this letting go at every instant he found his starting point.

That day, his wandering had appeared with its muted rhythm. Her skin was colored with a transparency of dew and palpitations took the course of her feet. She felt the brevity of the flickers brushing her sleep. And he was ready to lean back from the roots of the closest memory. He experienced the proximity of a conviction -the only one for his abysmal existence-, which came with the violence of an unrenounceable brightness.

Gracias por su lectura. Thank you for reading.

_{Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)}

_{Gif diseñado por @equipodelta}