Dear: I don’t want to be cruel to you. You don’t deserve this. But I think it’s only fair that you be the first to know: I’ve decided to leave you.
It was not an easy decision. You were mine when I had nothing to offer you. Just my dreams. You have been my faithful companion for over 40 years. You shared my victories and failures. It was to you that I confessed my doubts and to whom I consulted about my projects and decisions. I saw you next to me in my sleepless nights. And, silent and understanding, you never once complained about my urgency. You always answered me. I know.
You gave yourself to me in full youth, when you were nimble and desirable. And you never asked me for anything. Or almost nothing. It’s not the same, but it’s the same.
You know my faults better than anyone. And you never opened them. you forgave me You generously accepted my first poems. Indeed, they were bad. Just as bad as last time. From our union, which seemed eternal, my best fruits have grown, which belong to you, although no one mentions you when talking about them. All I know
But it pains me to admit: you have grown old. No! Please do not be offended. Maybe I’m not the same either
same. That over the years the fingers that caress you have become clumsy and arthritic and no longer embrace your body, horizontal and positioned, with the same ability of those early days of madness when our intimate sessions lasted up to six or eight uninterrupted hours, without interruption. How terrible! Just remembering this makes me tired. But, at that time I was 20 years old and you quickly and efficiently responded to my whims. I no longer surprise you with my insolence, and I have become slow and conservative, but you do not demand anything from me, understanding and silence.
Everything seemed to indicate that we could enjoy old age together.
calm, serene, serene. And yet, a circumstance has arisen in my life that forces me to make this decision, which you may not understand. I always thought that when my life is different, I will not hide it from you, my faithful confidant, no matter how it hurts. Well there is more! I received a letter from Uneac asking me to buy a new typewriter in installments. And I will accept it.
Can you forgive me, my dear old Underwood?
PS: I would be grateful if you did not fall into an ugly vice, starting now to speak badly about me. Don’t tell everyone I’m wrong, okay?
*During this week, JR reproduces in this space the texts published on its pages by the distinguished writer and humorist Enrique Nunez Rodriguez in honor of the centenary of his birth on May 13th.
Source: Juventud Rebelde