It's in the afternoon. I am sitting next to my mother. We look at the river water. Birds fly on our heads. There is a rumor of distant voices ... Paso people that are not seen. I look at my mother. While she does not stop looking at the river and speaks, in a very clear voice, of the main reasons of life. Those capable of making the difference between a man of fortune and a loser. I know he tells me because he loves me. And because you want the best for me. I know it and that's why I think. I think about how things will be one day. When all the men and women, who I still do not know, have been filling the open streets of my life with hope. I am not able to imagine pain. And I don't want to imagine it either. I am a kid. And I have, intact, the ability to believe and the power to imagine. And, therefore, lulled by the voice of the person I love most in the world, I imagine beautiful things, very beautiful things that will happen to me. And that will fill my life with light. Of a clear, almost transparent light, like this day of complete happiness for me. I will walk. I will grow. I will learn. I will be a good man with all the good men who will be next to me. And there will be no other destiny better than to know what I did everything that can not move away, or for a moment, from the beautiful meaning that my mother's words have been creating in me. Words that come going through the warm air that wraps everything. Words that are beauty and love. And that they drive me to believe, with holy ease, that everything that my mother dreams today to see in me will be possible one day. After a long time. Because now I am still a child. And because, little by little, I have fallen asleep. In the lap, so cozy, of my mother. That sustains me as a safe promise of happiness. That caresses my hair softly. That leaves aside the clear slogans of my learning. And that cradles, very sweetly, while sings, in the ear, a beautiful song.
The hope of a child
