I took the book and read a hundred pages on the time of a breath. I had already forgotten how addictive was reading. And you can lose yourself between paragraph and paragraph you melt with the life of the writer and of the one who write about. It's funny, maybe you don't understand it but this book was my life, my father had written it. And I had lost him so long ago.

They say that a good reading ends up finding you but the truth is that I was been even more lost. I was reading the dad I never enjoyed and the one I always had, don't think he was a bad dad, at all. I became a sea of ​​tears just reading, thinking. Life should be simple, love and that's it. I wish it were that simple.

I have always thought that we are made of particles of conversations that we have or hear. And I know that my dad was an old man with many tricks, had the hair of cobwebs that could only mean one thing he was not old and he didn't Look old. His hair was like this until the beginning of my adult life, the twenty.

It's funny how we become adults, as the perspectives change and he did things that made him be how he is, and made out of him a dad, My dad. The air hostess pulled me out of my thoughts by speaking on the loudspeaker telling everyone to put on the belts. We were going to land. I wiped away the tears or what was left of them with less desire than I believed. While I was waiting him to pick me up in the airport I put on my headphones and put on my favorite music. Slow and reassuring music. My best friend used to say that it was elevator music and the soundtrack of my life.