What if, it was.

When ever I decide to visit these lands bathed by the Atlantic it always becomes a nostalgic trip.

I visit places from my past, I meet people from my past, I breathe the air from my past.

True most of the people are still very much a part of the present, true a lot of them will be part of my future but still, I linger, still stepping outside my Mom's house on those clear nights and finding myself, just like I did countless times before, staring at that starry sky.

Now a days I feel more and more like a ghost, a spectre, a breeze that gently passes through, passing through their lives like sun rays through windows.

Yes here and there I leave a little touch, a gentle tap on the shoulder that makes them turn around looking for something that isn't really there.
It feels me with joy and sadness this sensation. The joy of still being here and the sadness of not really belonging any more.

The last hours are always the hardest and the easiest, the pain of saying farewell again, and the relieve of leaving a place that is no longer my own.

Change is scary, change leaves us shaking in the dark, afraid of letting go of the past, terrified of the unknown.
For some, even though they are scared, the temptation of reaching out to the unlighted and the foreign is too much to bear, soon it drives away the fear and makes them jump forward.

The what if's of life are too many to avoid them all, but, some of them are really never meant to stay that way, they become the memories and challenges, they become part of us, shape-shifting from if to was, from regret to accomplishment.


I love my past, the what ifs I turned into it was, the good the bad, all of it. It turned me into this, into me, and this is only part of the road, part of the journey.

My life is full of people, amazing people, and I'm glad I don't belong here any more, I rather be a reason than a constant, I rather be the push, the breeze, that gentle touch.

I rather be a memory that never fades than a pillar eroding with time.

And while here I'm passing through, there my roots are spreading, seeping more and more on that land, gripping it tight without letting go.

My journey isn't finished, my road still has miles ahead, but there is nothing wrong with stopping, for a little while, and enjoy a drink from that fountain.