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Terminal in La Paz

The drops hit the window of my living room. I like the sound of rain, I moved to other places, other times. I close my eyes and I'm in La Paz. I just got an endless journey of twenty hours. The rain is incessant. I have cold. A lot. The first thing I do when entering the terminal is to go to the bathroom. Since I left Buenos Aires two weeks ago, I can not recover from an upset stomach.

The bathroom is dirty, a mixture of mud and water covering the floor. I do not take it anymore and dropped the bag. Gets wet and I do not care. I resigned, to be alone I go with her everywhere, including the bathroom. The pain in your belly and gives back to sit in the terminal. I do not want to be in La Paz. Height makes my head hurt and I feel tired.

People, hurry, come and go in the corridors of the terminal. A voice coming from a loudspeaker tells me to take care of my belongings, not to accept evidence of perfume and have a good trip. I keep sitting, but now hang my head and analyze how I came to be there. Mobilize long do you all leave friends, family, work, to her. I think about it, I close my eyes.

And now that the open, six months later, the same rain, the same noise and drops them are knocking on the window of the house. But La Paz is not Buenos Aires. She just is not it. And I was not me. At least, that's me.