If someone were to ask me what life is, I would say it is a magical road where, in a single instant, the clarity of the sun, the drifting mist, the mirrors, and the morning dew meet. Yet we never know upon which of these destinations each of our steps will land. Nor can we know when, along the way, we will share a path with another soul—or for how long. Perhaps that is what makes it as captivating as two mirrors reflecting one another into infinity.
But unlike the flavor left behind by an endless series of images, each one alike yet never the same, life is accompanied by sound. Some are laments, others are joyful; some are the deep hum of sleep, others pure poetry. It is a paradox that it is precisely these sounds we try to master, even as time drives the march onward, urging us forward down the road.
Perhaps it is these very sounds that so distract us that we forget to see the landscape before us, or the opportunities it quietly offers. Yet perhaps, too, it is these same sounds that help us recognize those rare souls who leave an indelible mark upon us—beings of light who become friends, that family we choose for ourselves.
They are the ones who, no matter the years or the miles, can sit down together and, in an instant, suspend time—picking up the frayed threads of a shared tapestry as though not a single second had passed. Friends who find greater joy in the triumphs of others than in their own. And maybe that is why it is so hard to say “see you later” when they draw their final breath.
The meeting of our footsteps on the same path has come to its end. What remains are the memories, the smiles, and the hope that, in another life, our roads will meet once more.
Only hours ago, the path of a friend—my great brother—turned toward other horizons. The pain that walked beside him, which he always made us forget with a smile, is now gone. I am left with the pride of having walked beside him, of having worked together, and of knowing that, as we say on the island, we each placed our grain of sand toward the future of our homeland.
I keep walking, stepping through the shadows the sun has cast, my mind wrapped in memory, cataloging our conversations, our deeds, our promises. And I know it is only the game of mist that tricks me into thinking I am alone. We never are. Just as he never will be. I only wish to tune myself to the right sounds, so I can go on, so that my brother may calmly rest, certain that his work is not yet done, but confident he has left it in good hands.
Rest in peace, Carlos, pride of Ponce, of Puerto Rico, and of all those fortunate enough to have crossed your path.
WOW. It is so sad hearing that. RIP Carlos.