No hay sustrato

No hay sustrato. O tal vez hubo?

De aquí a cinco años, el reloj comenzó con su tic-tac. Estaba aquí y al mismo tiempo en otras líneas paralelas. La realidad se construye a medida que observamos. No existe. La semana transcurrió como es usual. Las olas empezaron a borrar las huellas. No había sustrato. Sólo arena. Infinita. No significa que no haya inicio ni final. Simplemente no se puede concebir porque no hay sustrato suficiente.

La energía del multiverso me acompaña y cuida mis pasos.

Same old story

“Some things do not change. Just…--his voice trembled-- don’t go too far.”

Then he stared at her. “Even separated rivers do reunite at sea” he thought. But he knew deep inside in that moment that one more time he was supposed to move on. Back to the road, he struggled to not look back.

Now he feels that much of this story repeat itself.

“Get over it. It’s not the end of the world anyway. But I’m puzzled” she said. “Why do you put so much valor in this?” 

The memory of that moment was colored with tears that couldn’t or shouldn’t appear.

He was numb. In that place and in that moment he wanted to hear that he was not alone in the universe.

Or be swallowed by a killer whale. His heart first.