Melancholy!  Strange, but maybe I miss it.

Melancholy, at least the way I experienced it, seemed flavored in hope, as though I was strolling through hidden fields on a path I couldn’t see but one that might lead anywhere, even back to where I’d started.

I’m back where I started with so many things behind me, echoes and shadows and smells, memories and regrets leaking back from the past, but not all that strongly; the noise from the future is too loud and too confusing, too murky, too opaque.

The path may or may not be there now.

In the past I couldn’t see it and didn’t know where it led but I knew it was there.  Right now, today, I just don’t know, the next step may be a drop down an endless abyss into a black hole.

What might I find there?  Heaven and hell coexisting in singularity?  Pop?  My mother, my grandmother, my uncle Pacho?  Would they remember me and do they still love me?  Is that where we all wind up?  Is it a place to wait for loved ones to arrive?

[1] © Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2010

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