I've been thinking about distance and goodbyes lately. I feel I'm leaving to go somewhere, leaving to go back from where I came from, leaving the apartment that only has sunlight in one side. I've been noticing that when I'm alone, I carry the nostalgic and embarrased smile of the friend that will try to keep in touch after he's settled in his new place. Indeed in that smile I feel I'm saying goodbye. And I feel saudade of my city, and of my mom reading a book, the lights of the family car reflected in my bedroom wall, the smell of rain over the pavement near a garden. Except I left that years ago. Its confusing when it comes back ten years too late and I'm forced to distract myself with energetic spurs of activity, with music that will lead my mind adrift and force it to stop feeling sorry for time and places. I've also thought that my inner goodbye stems from the increasing desire to move away from this city, despite its dramatic cultural diversity and its gastronomic wonders, despite its spring cherries and winter flakes, and its general aura of intelectual welfare. Regardless of the fact that summer is near and I will be asleep in Central Park after a concert in the grass, asleep, my hair tended by its tiny blades. I miss, I have a void, a pre-nostalgic feeling of departure from here, and strangely, from what will come next. Perhaps I'm just tired? perhaps all those goodbye and departures are really flexures of my memories, catching up when I stop from my daily routine. Come to think of it, they are really pieces of older routines, intermingling with this space, and this time. Didn't a famous physicist recently claimed that everything, every event, every voice and every dream continues on forever? never ending, never really starting.