Waypoints

"Returning, yes, but like someone returning to bid farewell, without nostalgia. Once again, she felt like she belonged nowhere, as if the places she once called home were merely waypoints. Packing up and leaving behind houses, cities, and even people had always been easy for her. It would be a lie to say she missed them afterwards, because it wasn't so. She longed for nothing. She didn't think any past time had been better; it had just been different. That time and that life had faded away, and there was no other way to see it.

(...) Every street, every familiar corner, evoked memories that no longer fully belonged to her. The streets she once walked confidently now seemed to blur, as if time had diluted the colors and sounds that once seemed bright, now turning them into strangers. Those who shared days and nights with her were barely shadows in her memory, faces that slowly faded, and she struggled to even remember their names.

(...) Returning to a place after years of absence only confirmed that life continued its relentless course, moving her forward. And so, as she wandered the rocky alleys that had once witnessed her daily life, she found solace in knowing that each city, each experience, had contributed to weaving the complex fabric of her life."

Yo, llamada Jimena (3º parte)