Abandonment
He is a young man. Dirty, with a beard and dressed in rags.
The few times I have tried to approach him, he pace fast, as if expecting an
insult from me or that I might inflict some physical harm on him. I am moved by
his sadness. Whenever I have crossed that park I have seen it. Never sitting,
always roaming around with a plastic bag in which, I suppose, he carries the
only thing he has. I have wondered many times where he will sleep. Surely the
street is his refuge. Now, every night when I say goodbye to the day, I
remember him and send him my wishes that he is well.
Desamparo
Es joven. Sucio, con barba y vestido con harapos. Las pocas
veces que he intentado acercarme a él, aligera sus pasos, como esperando de mí
un insulto o que le pueda infligir algún daño físico. Me conmueve su tristeza. Siempre
que he cruzado ese parque lo he visto. Nunca sentado, siempre deambulando con
una bolsa de plástico en la que, supongo, lleva lo único que tiene. Me he
preguntado muchas veces dónde dormirá. Seguramente la calle es su refugio. Ahora,
todas las noches, cuando me despido del día, me acuerdo de él y le envío mis
deseos de que esté bien.
