Yes, I remember you. When we played in the streets running after your fantasies that they exploded it like the flowers in spring. When we flying ours kites, those with the soul of cane, that we wore with multicolored papers and that we pasted with potato baked . When we played on our white tree, painting on the cobbled road. I later discovered was our particular version of baseball.
Yes, I remember you. When we built a large zip line, with a threadbare steel cable that we found in one of our ravines and we threw ourselves with an old bicycle handlebar. We spitting to danger in the face. When, with that stinky mattress, we threw ourselves down the slopes of the barranco de La Ballena in search of speed and the adrenaline us came out through the pores.
Yes, I know, I killed you.
Now I look for you in the memories. Is all I have left, to plunge into the depths, to give you a hand and to be the child I once was. The one who from time to time touches me at the door and asks me, do we play?
Image source: Pixabay
