—Look at that boy —he laughed softly.— He had no idea how difficult life would become.
I smiled sadly.
—And that girl had no idea she would spend forty years missing him.
The room became quiet.
Then Manuel took the photograph carefully in his hands.
—I wish we had more time.
There it was.
The truth both of us carried silently every day.
At our age, love comes with an invisible clock.
You never fully stop hearing it.
I rested my head against his shoulder.
—We wasted enough years already —I whispered.— Let’s not waste the ones we still have fearing the end.
Manuel kissed my hair gently.
And somehow, after that conversation, we stopped talking so much about dying.
Instead, we started living.
Small trips.
Sunday breakfasts in nearby towns.
Holding hands in public despite the strange looks from people who believed romance belonged only to the young.
Sometimes strangers smiled at us.
Sometimes they stared.
