Violeta disfruta de la soledad. Es una soledad elegida, no le tiene miedo, no la angustia. Hace cosas que antes no podía. Ella, como el resto de los seres humanos, vivía ajustada a exigencias temporales: hay que entregar tal cosa o terminar tal otra.
Ahora tiene horas en las que disfruta de hacer nada. Exactamente eso. Nada. Como los gatos que la rodean. Ellos juegan durante la mañana y después languidecen en largas siestas gatunas. Alguien los alimenta, los cuida y se dejan estar; despreocupados por otra cosa que no sea jugar, dejarse abrazar por Violeta y dormir. De vez en cuando se concentran en alguna mosca que vuela. Pero no mucho más. Violeta tampoco.
A veces le duelen ciertos recuerdos del pasado en los que ella realizaba muchas y maravillosas actividades al mismo tiempo. Observa en la mirada de sus amigos que buscan a esa otra mujer. Sabe que también a ellos les llegará la resignación. Y se relame, dispuesta a dormir una larga siesta gatuna.
De Solitudine
Violeta enjoys her solitude. It is a solitude she has chosen for herself; it causes her neither fear nor anguish. She does things she could not do before. She, like all other human beings, lived a life in which she had adjusted to deal with matters at hand; there are things one must provide, things one must finish.
Now there are hours in which she enjoys doing nothing. Just that. Nothing. Like the cats that live around her. They play during the morning and afterwards languish in long catnaps. Someone feeds them, cares for them and they just lap it up; they disregard everything except play, allow Violeta to cuddle them and then return to sleep. From time to time their attention is caught by a fly in flight. But not much else. Likewise Violeta.
Sometimes she is hurt by some memories from the past in which she did many marvellous things at the same time. She sees in the eyes of her friends that they are searching for this other woman. But she knows that they too will arrive at resignation at any time. She licks her lips, ready for a long catlike nap.
Ahora tiene horas en las que disfruta de hacer nada. Exactamente eso. Nada. Como los gatos que la rodean. Ellos juegan durante la mañana y después languidecen en largas siestas gatunas. Alguien los alimenta, los cuida y se dejan estar; despreocupados por otra cosa que no sea jugar, dejarse abrazar por Violeta y dormir. De vez en cuando se concentran en alguna mosca que vuela. Pero no mucho más. Violeta tampoco.
A veces le duelen ciertos recuerdos del pasado en los que ella realizaba muchas y maravillosas actividades al mismo tiempo. Observa en la mirada de sus amigos que buscan a esa otra mujer. Sabe que también a ellos les llegará la resignación. Y se relame, dispuesta a dormir una larga siesta gatuna.
De Solitudine
Violeta enjoys her solitude. It is a solitude she has chosen for herself; it causes her neither fear nor anguish. She does things she could not do before. She, like all other human beings, lived a life in which she had adjusted to deal with matters at hand; there are things one must provide, things one must finish.
Now there are hours in which she enjoys doing nothing. Just that. Nothing. Like the cats that live around her. They play during the morning and afterwards languish in long catnaps. Someone feeds them, cares for them and they just lap it up; they disregard everything except play, allow Violeta to cuddle them and then return to sleep. From time to time their attention is caught by a fly in flight. But not much else. Likewise Violeta.
Sometimes she is hurt by some memories from the past in which she did many marvellous things at the same time. She sees in the eyes of her friends that they are searching for this other woman. But she knows that they too will arrive at resignation at any time. She licks her lips, ready for a long catlike nap.
