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Bitácora personal de Guillermo Cides


As they leave, they stay.


By Guillermo Cides

Those who leave, stay.
They pile up there, all of them, on my small days, with few chairs to sit on. They stay there, with their simple faces that look calm. They are the faces of the past, of those I knew, of those who lived in my lifetime, occasional travel partners that lasted a breath, a long and deep breath of life that mixed us all in a mass of hugs and handshakes. Of kisses, of looks, of silences, and of shared music. There are even vegetable market stallholders who, without knowing it, painted our past every day. Unique people, the main actors in the work of our days, those who passed and remained in our memories.
As they leave, they stay. And every day I remember them, even if I don’t want to, even if I don’t sleep. They appear out of nowhere, like old ghost friends, companions for the rest of the trip and what I have left to live.
And I watch them calmly and let them stay.
Until I am one of them and appear in the memories of others. Until there is no more memory, and then yes, we will be air, dust, and wind mixed in a world that is made of that, of pieces of time, and of people with faces of memories that do not go away. That they stay.

In tribute to Nicolás “Colacho” Brizuela, known for being Mercedes Sosa’s guitarist for many years. He had recently discovered the Stick and we were collaborating on some ideas. Thanks for the chords and inspiration, Colacho.

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