Lontana is the house of my summers.

It is located in the south of Spain, in a coastal town in the province of Huelva called El Rompido.
The reason why a Catalan like me has this connection is simple: my father, also from Barcelona, was assigned in the 1960s to join the army in Seville, a neighboring city from Huelva, but without the privilege of the beach; so, when the heat was severe in August, Jordi would travel a few kilometers towards Portugal in search of sand and the Atlantic.

We are in the open sea, me dragging her, who is weak and can't swim.
I spot our boat far away, so I decide to move us in that direction.

When we got where I thought it should be, I realize that the boat was never there.
Exhausted, I turn my head around looking for it, but wherever I stare there's only sea and sky.

" You remind me of someone who is looking through a closed window and can't explain to himself the strange movements of a passerby.
He doesn’t know what sort of storm is raging outside and that this person is perhaps only with great effort keeping himself on his feet."

( Ludwig Wittgenstein )

My world collapsed a time ago.
Perfect storm. Bigger than me.
I just gave up, so to stay in bed forever didn’t sound like a bad idea.

[ work in progress ]