I hope, dear reader, that you will read these humble words as you listen to director Serrat’s incomparable voice and as memories now touch you, the memories that each of us have and that appear from time to time. to make us cry or laugh?
Does great madness leave beautiful memories? Vega Danns?
- “Are those little things that left a time of roses? In a corner.
- On a piece of paper or in a drawer?Those wonderful memories that no one or anything can erase; Mom’s smile when she fed.
- The first kiss.
- The first love letter.
- The first drawing of our son who ran like crazy to show it to Mom and Dad?.
These memories that remain in our minds and sometimes reappear as the greatest treasure, as we look in a corner, on a piece of paper or in a drawer.
That’s when these pictures of when we were kids appear or this boyfriend’s yellow letter, and what is it that the letters come so late that they’re only in our memory and in museums?
The dried rose between the leaves of a book that still reminds us of our 20 years and the undeniable innocence of the first love; the recipe book made so carefully by our grandmother and that still reminds us of her stew and biscuit, or the diary that we had never known and that appears in our life as a whirlwind willing to rip our hearts out.
I remember once they found the beginning of what would be a newspaper, my grandfather’s diary, unfortunately what started so carefully could not be ended, it turns out that life is like this.
I never met my grandfather, so did these written words mark a before and after?
When they began to read their texts aloud, while I remained silent and engrossed as in the best of movies, an inner emotion overwhelmed me and suddenly I felt as if I had traveled in a time machine, as if, in a certain way or on the other hand, I met my grandfather, that old man who counted the journeys of his childhood with the same words and the same vivacity that he so often told my grandmother , your dear life partner.
At that moment I felt that my grandfather’s words were gaining so much strength that he felt it a little closer without knowing him, at the time, it was as if his words wanted his younger grandchildren to know the grandfather they could never enjoy.
Was the story so beautiful that we lost track of time and kept reading and reading?Your antics at school, your relationship with your dear friends?Until in a moment the silence was made? He had only been able to write a few pages of what his diary would be, didn’t he have time to have more?
That’s when we realized he was gone very early, and although we couldn’t enjoy his stories sitting on his lap, his words at least won a voice that unique afternoon?
People think time and absence have killed them, but their train sold the return ticket.
They are the little things that left us a time of roses, in a corner, on a piece of paper or in a drawer.
Like a thief waiting for you behind the door, you’re totally at your mercy like dead leaves
that the wind is going round or there, they smile sadly and make us cry when no one sees us.
? Joan Manuel Serrat?
And now I hear this wonderful music again as I write these words and re-read them, and I understand the great power that memories have over us.