Memories of a walker

 I walk down the street, it's long, desolate, nothing around me, I only hear the murmur of the wind and the heat that comes from the pavement that warms my feet. The road is long and my sight is lost in the horizon looking for the end of that highway.

 This time I do not want to be alone and I want to return to where I am because that is where my essence is; remembering the celebrations in that bar, one beer after another, listening to those songs that bring back memories of my life as I sit at the bar and see those who have been my life companions for so long, the smell of that cigarette every morning of who woke me up with breakfast in bed. Going through these deserted roads in a car at full speed where nothing was called a limit, singing full-throated songs that filled us with adrenaline and that we only stopped to drink one beer after another and when only the moonlight shone on us. Many times drunk and perhaps without meaning we woke up lying on the hood of the car that only woke us the intense heat of the sun and we returned full of experiences that we had in the same bar where I used to go every night. 

 But here I go, almost barefoot by the wear of my boots with the hot asphalt, a little faded jeans, half broken and somewhat loose for the time I've been walking and little to eat, a hat that only covers my head but can not stand the intense glow of the sun, little energy drink, then, I have been consuming it in the journey of this long and suffered trip. But above all and most importantly; with a suitcase full of dreams, hopes and memories that impel me to keep going until I reach that place that awaits me to tell my experience as a backpacker. Although I traveled a lot, I knew a lot and many acquaintances leave, it would not change the essence of my people with whom I grew up and for which, against all odds, I come back to tell you how great they are and how proud I am of them.