had to go for a small matter, but much of my being mobilized at the thought of crossing that door.
Behind these walls where so often dreamed, planned it, created it, I laughed, I cried ...
I circled the place, I recognized each external corner, every street, every aroma.
parked closest to the door and going down, I settled glasses for shelter from the cluster of emotions that landed in haste, stumbling my sensibility.
Another was the person who opened, but some faces have not changed. Some wrinkles around here, snowy hair there.
After greetings, references to the past and the approach by which I was there, I asked permission to look from the inside so many times watching as an intruder to pass through the avenue.
Everything went well. Though there were other voices that were heard, other white popcorn writing his own history ... as that time.
I went to the hall where he once threw him in the face to the professional assessment of history, the room looked tutors looking for Jorge but he was not there, I went up those stairs with quiet steps differing from those years where the did with my winged feet, I put my fingers through the railings, knowing that many others, for years, supported them.
I searched the bathroom - where we talked about office life, where entry meant to be complicit in making smoking big, but I found it closed. Because of generational change now locked for keeping kids from doing drugs come, they said. Must be ordered in preceptorship breaks or put the teachers of guardians.
changed everything and nothing.
And I there, feeling part of every whisper, seeing each student in the early years lonely and every girl crazy in the past.
Time passed. Seventeen years to be exact.
It is no longer the National.
I left there with many memories in my memory, with a half smile hovering but simultaneously with the sadness of knowing that this time there are few who enjoy adolescence and there are many who are lost in it.
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