It feels strange to return to a place where you were once happy. To walk again on the streets that used to hear your laughter before everything became clouded. I have decided to return to Playa Blanca, once everything has ended, but I find it hard to feel at home instead of like a stranger. It’s as difficult as trying to type without making mistakes over and over again, now that I no longer hear her sleeping breath beside me. I doubt anything decent can come from these stiff fingers, because no matter how much I try to turn the page, the only thing I can think to write is her name. Sergio is one of my best students—I teach literature at the Yaiza Institute—and he’s encouraging me to start a blog, a virtual diary where I can pour out my feelings and maybe get back to writing. Maybe he’s right; typing again seems to suit me, even if I don’t have much to say yet. Or maybe I do.
