on the road to santiago

there was the mud, ankle deep, each foot weighing 15 kilos it seemed. I walked it alone. met up with you. the girl. all three of us exhausted. but it felt good.
I told you I had to walk alone. sometimes.

I had to walk into my own shadow for the first time in my life. not away from you. but into me. oh cliche cliche. but it was true. I always knew I’d walk home.

and there was nobody else I was walking towards but me. but you never believed me when I said this was so.

I let you walk alone. was happy for you. one day 52 kms. I had your dinner waiting. a bed. a bottle of wine too. the child was well. your knees and ankles swelled. but you were happy.

it’s four years since I last saw you. smoking cigarettes. drinking beer. helping the potato girls carry their bucket of potatoes to the kitchen for next day’s tortillas.

how I miss you.


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