Orgullozo

Every morning for years, I opened with the same two words: Buen día, pa. Every night, the same close: Descansa, pa. Between them, whole lives happened, rides through traffic, meetings, a boat in some bay, sorry, I ran out of battery. Then, from Cairo, half a world tilted sideways, I told you where I was before I even knew myself. You wrote back: I'm proud of you, orgullozo, live your life, it's the only one you get. Then, laughing at your own mistake: what a mess, hah. I told you you missed an s. You always missed a letter, never the meaning. I keep that message the way some people keep a photograph, not because it explains anything, but because for one whole minute in Cairo, half asleep, half amazed, I was exactly who you always said I was. Buen día, pa, wherever you're keeping mornings now.