Last week I went to see you. And see you is indeed the best of words. We barely talk, in fact, I was mute, you mumbled the few words you still can. It was difficult!
I don't have that many images of you as the sole matriarch of the family, i don't recall you in Guilhomil bossing everyone, sitting in the chair eagerly waiting for our childish theatres.
But I recall a few things, I still recall the smell of hamburguers as soon as you open the door to your flat. I still recall playing with your zoo of plastic animals, I still recall watching tennis on Eurosport, even though, must of the times, I would prefer the psychadelic images of Dragonball. I still recall your amazingly "snow white" hair, and your fierce piercing blue eyes.
From the deep ice-blue oceans that they are, you looked at me last week, while you floated in the bedsheets, and tried talking to me. You didn't spoke, but I could hear you whispering.
If I could, in that particular moment, I would pick you up and we would fly, no destination... But somewhere blue.
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