Undying Love: Maria the Orphan

I don't know what's happening to me tonight. I can't sleep, and everything keeps replaying in my mind. The past is chasing me to my bed, reminding me of my childhood, taking me back in time. 

I try to push away the thoughts of what happened yesterday—my dream of my father, and now even sleep seems to be avoiding me. 

I think perhaps it's the longing for my father that's overtaking me. How hard it is to experience loss, as though you've lost a part of yourself. That person you wish could stay by your side, step by step. Especially a father, for he is that pillar of support that no one else can replace. 

I can't forget the tears in my mother's eyes when I would find her, by chance, crying for him in her room. She was left to struggle with life for my sake and for the sake of my older brother Alfredo, who is a year older than me. He traveled to America seeking a better life, leaving just me and my mother with our maid, Sophie. My father had been well-off and had left us enough money to get by, along with a two-story house that had a modest garden. But his death left behind enough sorrow and grief to settle deep within our hearts. Whoever said that money is everything was lying. I needed his hug when I was little, and now, maybe even more. 

But that's life—sometimes it gives you money, but it takes away other, more beautiful things, like safety, love, and those things you never imagined you could lose. 

I didn't live with my father for long; I was only four years old when he passed away. Every time I try to imagine him, I end up remembering his ghost sitting on that couch, which I now love sitting on whenever I'm alone with myself. He left his guitar behind, and I kept it for myself. I learned to play it, just as I loved it for his love of it. 

Whenever my mother would long for his melody, she'd call me to play it for her. How wonderful and gentle it was, she'd say! I was the rose he'd carry home from work each evening, savoring its nectar by kissing it endlessly. Death took him from me, without leaving me the chance to see him again or even hear the word "Papa" from his lips. 

I grew up, and with me, the fear of loss grew. I fear losing my mother too, and the emotions that can never be restored. She's all I have left. I've already lost my brother, who chose to search for happiness elsewhere, forgetting that we could have created it together, right here. But unfortunately, he didn't see it. 

One day, I asked my mother how my father had passed away. She answered, a hot tear falling from her eye, saying it was that vicious disease that took him from us suddenly. 

I stayed in that moment for what felt like hours, reflecting on my past, until I heard the sound of rain pouring down heavily outside. I jumped out of bed and ran to the balcony to enjoy the view, my eyes gazing at the horizon as if it were embracing my father's spirit. 

I returned to my bed, trying to sleep, holding on to the hope that my dream man would be like my father—someone who loves music, calm in nature, and kind to everyone. 

Morning broke over my balcony, and the usual sound of my phone ringing woke me. I quickly ran down the stairs toward the kitchen, where the smell of fried eggs filled the air. It was Sophie, making our breakfast. I ate quickly because I had plans to meet my friend. Today is a holiday, and we are sure to visit all the shops and buy whatever we want. 

My mother came down to join us for breakfast, and I didn't notice her until I heard her say: 

- "Snohuit, I hope you won't be late. I know you; you never keep track of time." 

I answered her: 

- "Mom, how long are you going to keep worrying about me? I've grown up." 

She replied: 

- "You haven't grown up to me. You'll always be that little girl, even if you get married and have a family." 

I smiled and said: 

- "Don't worry, I'll be back early so we can sit together. I can never get enough of you; you're all I have left." 

I finished my breakfast and went up to my room to choose what to wear for the day, not knowing what the day would hold.