The open sky has hidden Shadows

Behind your shoulder blades the sun cuts the city sky to sleep, the skyscrapers seem not to be ready for bed though, they fight back with open and lit windows. Those annoying traffic lights are getting useless as the machines have retired and probably dreaming of the next morrow’s drive. Heard in the still urban wind is a loud breath of big air-conditioners and a smellable music of frying pans inside the buildings. You are not here, something under these pavements is silent. Their patterns seem new and obscure to the slumbering bodies of the homeless. It is not sadness, but a feeling of unfamiliarity. You’re somewhere between a weakening nexus of urban and rural, or future and past. 

The open road will be good to you. There will be unnamed lands besides you. Look at them and inhale all dreams of fellow nomads who came before you. Do not name them. Fall in love with the empty sky, rid your mind off its limits. You are free. Indefinitely. So take all you can get from all those vacant spaces in the quiet horizon. Follow the ungoverned movements of those slowly flying birds, they have no destination, so be patient, victory isn’t about arriving but the experiences collected and treasured throughout the trajectory. I will not yet speak about the spaces in my heart. Be joyful. You can look back if you want, I don’t know much about leaving so such advices have not yet been planted in my field of unevenly growing knowledge. Look around you. Moreover, I cannot yet suggest that you look inside you either. 

I will tell you though about the openness of the road and the spaces in the sky. I will speak less of the scarecrows in the corn gardens and the dead fish below the rivers you will cross. Not much about the tired souls now invisibly wondering atop the mountains you will see. I have seen the bonfires in your eyes, how they keep growing regardless of the winds motion or presence. I know about your hidden passions. I have sensed the warmth woven into your shy palms when the city is cold. You can hold an infant without a blanket or naked in this winter night and they will not cry. I marvel nightly at the miracle of your calm voice. Every word that passes your larynx sounds like a song. Angelic! You are such an oblivious healer!  There is beauty in how you curl your limited body between these cluttered city streets, untouched. Your serenity is magical! 

The open road: This is not even about ego or me blowing my own plastic horn; I’m not that big or insignificantly small, but you will miss me. The emptiness in the sky will remind you of the frivolous things I spend the whole night talking about, without any solid hypothesis. The silent horizon will remind you of my pointlessness. The lack of stop signs and traffic lights will remind you of my unstoppable laughter. How I stretch one stupid joke to a million stories without end. Those trees now standing without their leaves will remind you of my dry jokes. You will feel like I’m your favourite thing about the city behind you, though invisible now, you will see my face traced by the starless spaces in that rural night sky. You will think of all the strange things about me, those that you like and those you would rather do without. You will swallow the void in the horizon and the emptiness will fill you up, you will miss me. Who am I kidding? This does sound egotistic. Forgive me. I should have told you about me, how I feel about your absence. But…That will be too much for your travelling bones to carry. I want you to travel lightly, so I will keep all my feelings about your impermanent departure to myself. 

Your height is a symbol of how much you respect gravity and not so much interested in what happens in the sky. I realise now that I’ve painted so much of sky into this letter that you probably won’t read much into it. I think that’s what I want. For you not to read too much into it, but decode more from the things I didn’t have the courage or the skill to express. Don’t read too much into it. 

Be there and enjoy all the emptiness around you.

The city probably misses you. Just a probability. The skyscrapers are not giving much in that regard. Only open and lit windows.
Read all the omitted parts of this letter somewhere between The Shadows in the sky. 

Yours concealed by light and exposed by Shadows,

Elysium Garcia…back to The Shadows