I gathered a lot of courage, and this week I decided to clean the study on the second floor. After all, you can’t seek peace by avoiding life. It’s the only room that faces the garden, and it was your favorite. Some time had passed, and when I opened the door, I noticed that musty, old smell and that unbearable silence, so I threw the window wide open.
Almost immediately, a blue blur rushed past my face, followed by a clatter of books at the back of the room. Among the leaves and papers, a swallow trembled and chirped, scared and cornered, unable to fly; her right wing was broken. I didn’t run to her immediately; there’s a time to die, though it’s hard for me to understand, and that could have been the swallow’s moment.
For a while, I watched her. She calmed down, and I think she noticed my presence. I reacted and snapped out of my lethargy. I took her, and almost with an attitude of resignation, she didn’t resist. I didn’t know what to do. I had splinted your finger once; it couldn’t be much different. I placed her near the open window inside a box. I’m not going to lie to you; the blue swallow occupied my mind and finally managed to distract me. I listened during the first day from the other room to a couple of failed attempts at taking off and then silence.
The next morning, I expected the worst. I suppose I had already gotten used to death, but there she was, alive. I felt I was looking life straight in the eye, reconnecting with it. I tended to her wounds and fed her. Day by day, a bond grew. A week passed this way, the swallow getting more accustomed to me, and I to her, establishing routines, attachments, and healing together.
On the ninth day, I got up and, as always, went to greet my friend. It was a beautiful day, and the study was fully illuminated, but the swallow’s box was empty. She wasn’t there; she had left without goodbyes. Despite the morning warmth, for a moment, I felt cold. That chill I had started to forget reappeared, moving across my skin. Involuntarily, I began to cry, but this time it was different. Little by little, the warmth returned, and in tears, I began to smile. By the window, I looked for my swallow in the trees. I finally understood that you were here, even though you were truly gone.
Mixpov 