317 kilometres is the distance between Pamplona (where Loreto Sesma studies journalism) and Zaragoza (her home). The journey, which she often makes, has inspired a beautiful poem in which her fresh, talented and relaxed voice rings out loud and clear.
“I once knew a girl. She thought she could play hopscotch in the middle of the road. She believed that there is a star that guides travellers with a wanderer’s soul. She found thousands of homes and they were all people. She embraced the disaster of tearing out roots and tying them to any heart she thought beat for more than mere survival. She fought to get to a peak just to steal a beam of sunlight and thus brighten her mother’s sad eyes. She loved as only a child can love, with an open breast, as though there were no tomorrow. She wrote through too many early mornings for her milk teeth and cried when her paper boat could no longer weather the tides. She survived a shipwreck and got to land where she added another candle to the cake simply so that she could make another wish. ‘Let the journey begin,’ was what she asked for. She wrote it down in a notebook because she’d heard that dreams don’t come true if you say them out loud. That girl is me, she’s grown up.
Now I know that my only conception of life is to wear out the soles of my shoes and tyres on the asphalt, or maybe it’s just that the world won’t stop turning and I’m trying to keep up with the dance.”
This is my story, my journey and my final dance before I kiss the flames, fall in love with the fire and let everything go.
The kilometres that are left in an outward journey towards the fate we all seek.