Still Unread

Between the forwarded prayers, the chain letters promising angels, the warnings about a country he thought was dying, there was, sometimes, just you. No te preocupes, hijo mío, you wrote, more than once, like a lighthouse that only blinks so often. Then, quieter: te extraño mucho. Then, only more memes. Then, one day before, HOOLAAAAA, a video link I never opened, still sitting there unread, still waiting for me to press play. I don't need the scream anymore. I'll take the last hello instead, loud, a little silly, exactly how you always were, and let that be enough of a goodbye. Somewhere, padre mío, you are still texting me into a phone that no longer rings. And somewhere, I am still about to answer, but i can´t.