When you’re not here and the jungle has swallowed you, I spend my time gathering water from all those places I search for you, water from the sea and the brooks, water from when I get wet, water that I drink. I collect it in red buckets I keep in the backyard. When they are full, I stick my head into each of the buckets and kiss the water, all of it. Then I ask the sun to evaporate it and wait until you exit so it can pour over your house and I can kiss you through the rain. You will see how the rain will not cease.
Image Credits: Doug Wheller
Translation into English by Angie Cruz
Relato ganador/ Winner de la IV Edición del Concurso Internacional de Microrrelatos Museo de la Palabra, convocado por la Fundación César Egido Serrano.