It was August 23 the day you jumped into the water from that bridge. You wore a tight-fitting gray dress and the red heels that you liked so much.
You did a frame dive, like the ones you did when you trained in college. I screamed and laughed, I was nervous although for you it was the most fun of the games, I followed you with my eyes and rested when you started to float. The curious did not wait, they were afraid to see someone dead, but there you were, with those big eyes wide open, your smile intact and your arms and legs spread like oars. The police, the civil guard and first aid arrived. They asked me if you were going to commit suicide, I lied, as you told me: “It was an accident, officer, I don’t know how from one moment to the next it went there.”
Whenever I tell her that story she bursts out laughing, she asks me questions, she wants to know what it looked like in the water from up there, what people were whispering about and how they got her out of there.
We suggest you read “The sound of pain is very similar to delight”
I chose that painting because it seemed the most practical for telling stories. The first time he saw it, he spent 32 minutes detailing it. Since then, the photo of that sunset with the sky stained with blood is the canvas for the stories that I invent for her, those fantasies that I repeat every night, but which for her are always a new adventure.
In that painting she is a heroine, she is young, energetic and happy. In that painting life is different, for her and for me. But the truth is that we are already very old, tired and weak. And she keeps losing her memory in a two-for-three. For some time now, I worry about dying first, I know that no one will come to tell her stories, to make her live the life she wanted to have through words. That is why I took the audacity to look for you, the owner of the image and the one who must have the most stories of the moment in which you took that photo. I know it sounds strange, but take it as a charity: if I die, and you will know, come at least once a week and tell her a story, it can be the same, it does not matter, for her it will always be a novelty .
You may be interested in reading Frankfurt was reborn from its ashes
