Original story: "The Absent", by bonzopoe

The absent are always present. The emptiness they leave reminds us of them all the time. The absent ones are scars that never completely close, ailments of the soul that in cold times hurt us even if we don't want to.

Regardless of the joy shared with the living, a part of us is always with the absent. And it is that when they leave they take part of us, beginning our transformation slowly.

And so over the years we go little by little with them, and inadvertently we begin to be part of their world as they are part of ours, and one day, being here we are no longer. All the echoes of our life have gone with them, and now we are a hollow space, a dead and living entity at the same time.

And this is how we slowly become them as we leave without ceasing to be here, moving silently dragged by our memories, our affections, to finally one day meet them again: our parents, our brothers, our friends, our loves, and even our children, and we finally become one of them, one of the absent.

But we also never leave completely, we leave behind, in the others, the seeds of new migrations, of new reunions signed in the wind, of new memories to be written in a new universe, one in which at last we can all be present.

Thank you very much for reading this post and dedicating a moment of your time. Until next time and remember to leave a comment.