San Martin de Unx

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San Martin de Unx

As I walk through a desert village in Spain I

hear a band playing. It is a holiday and everyone is having

fun at a party in someone’s home, everyone but me. I am

alone and I have no one to talk to. I have been on the road

for four months to promote my books and I ask myself if it

is worth it after all, whether I should just let go of all

this now and go back to Brazil. The village’s streets are

narrow and the night is falling and loneliness gets harder

to endure. 

Suddenly, I hear the voice of a man singing; he

must be the only one who didn’t go to the party.

 I wonder why he didn’t go. Don’t they like him? 


Doesn’t he like partying? I am able to understand some

of the song’s words: 

On these days all the winds of the world

Blow toward those who dream

On these days the rain always draws

The face of our loved ones

I write these verses down on the writing pad I

carry with me sometimes. I will never know this man. I will

never know his face or his age. He will never know that in

this icy afternoon, he taught me that I wasn’t alone and he

gave me back joy and courage. 

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