Last night, I had a dream.
We were living in Lisbon in a sunny apartment. It was the end of the day and we were about to go for dinner at a park.
Lately I’ve been thinking about the time I spent in Lisbon.
I would ride my bike everyday to work. The bike lanes were new then, and I bought a bicycle in December. I rode up from Marques de Pombal up to the place I used to work in between Entre Campos and Campo Grande. I was out of shape so my glasses fogged as I struggled to climb uphill in the mornings. But it didn’t matter. I was so happy that between my laboured breaths, I greeted pedestrians as they crossed me. My happiness, outweighing my struggle.
I would come to work sweating under my jacket but my hands were cold even if I had been wearing gloves. I don’t know what I miss about that time. I’m not sure if it was the way the light changed in the city. Or how the wind felt on my skin. Is it possible, to surely miss the person that I was and in the same breath love the person that I am?
VENICE DE CASTRO ATIENZA 