Puerto Plata — The irony of life, the mockery of a treacherous fate that the melancholy of time erased without regard for your generosity, you died alone, as anonymous heroes do, with clenched teeth, masking a happiness that only you knew had slipped away like water through your fingers.
Daniel Cabrera, a giant of honesty, a fading spark of the courage of our hero Gregorio Luperón, whom you admired so deeply, as if you feared that fate would deal you similar cards… as cruel and alike as dying in solitude, in anguish, in exile, after having given everything in return for nothing.
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Perhaps your story faded into the treacherous silence of ingratitude, perhaps the echoes of unspeakable grief died within you, in your silence, your sadness, your loneliness. But your story as an anonymous hero can never be erased, because you were an unmatched human being, the kind who never sought recognition, who never demanded gratitude, the kind who always stood firm in the same place until that treacherous fate tried, in vain, to erase your story.
And now, what remains of the “Cursed Route”? The one where you found refuge for so many years, the only oasis of peace you felt when you stepped into the leading role of that unbelievable story, the one that kept so many people awake at night as you told it over and over again.
The river rising, the euphoria of endless drinks, the roar of the car… and there, deep along that endless path, the mysterious little house, the gunshots, the intimidation, the doubt, the anguish, the fear inside… and at the end, your thunderous laugh, which you always thought was amusing, but in truth carried fear, terror, and unease.
Dawn broke, and the sky took on the scent of sadness, of desolation, a purple hue, burdened with guilt over the distance and the years that inexplicably stole our final steps, driven by a forced and treacherous separation.
When a friend leaves… the roads close, desolation takes over, giving way to an indescribable sadness that can only be expressed in that deep silence where only the murmurs of the unspeakable exist, where time and space stand still, where the greatest emotions have no voice. What desolation.
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