Today it woke up raining in the small state of Connecticut. Behind the glass window, it looks romantic, melancholic, and beautiful; as beautiful as it is untouchable, under a freezing temperature, inaccessible to human fragility, as beautiful yet unreachable as the majesty of the sun, which burns you if you get too close and blinds you if you stare at it for too long.
Today it woke up raining in the small state of Connecticut. An umbrella fell onto the pavement, its striking colors unable to prevent it from unfolding gracefully, as if trying to shield itself from the drops falling from the sky. The steady sound of rain creates a soothing melody, while the umbrella would have offered shelter to an owner who is no longer there. The raindrops dance through the air, and the dim light enhances the scene, creating a calm and serene atmosphere, like the silence that precedes life itself.
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Today it woke up raining in the small state of Connecticut. Before a fading January that dissolves into the illusion of daily routine and the hurried pace of people who cannot even stop to notice that today it woke up raining in Connecticut.
I wonder if I have slipped through an interval of space and time, or if I have deceived myself while watching the waters that have passed beneath the bridges since that morning when I surprised everyone with a loud cry announcing my arrival into this cruel world. Looking back, I feel only the nostalgia of dear friends who departed one after another along that mysterious path full of unanswered questions, a path each of us must walk alone: Benito De La Cruz, Daniel Cabrera, José Veras, Ángel Cabrera, Freddy Frías, Ramón Albrinco, Manuel Cabrera, Sony López, and Ramón Belleya, the last to go, who died holding on to his guitar, died as he lived, simply singing, singing to love, singing to life, free of everything.
Today it woke up raining in the small state of Connecticut. And I… I will raise a glass for each one of them with a fine glass of Brandy de Jerez aged in sherry casks… just like in the old days, my friends, those days of the cursed route, the machine, and the half chicken.
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