Aire que respira, El

Me advirtieron sobre Tristan Cole. «Aléjate de él», me decía la gente. «Es cruel». «Es frío». «Está roto». Es fácil juzgar a un hombre por su pasado. Mirar a Tristan y ver un monstruo. Pero yo no podía hacer eso. Tenía que aceptar el dolor que vivía en su interior porque también vivía dentro de mí. Los dos estábamos vacíos. Los dos buscábamos algo más. Los dos queríamos juntar los pedazos de nuestros ayeres. Entonces, tal vez, podríamos recordar por fin cómo respirar.

I was warned about Tristan Cole. “Stay away from him,” people said. “He’s cruel.” “He’s cold.” “He’s damaged.” It’s easy to judge a man because of his past. To look at Tristan and see a monster. But I couldn’t do that. I had to accept the wreckage that lived inside of him because it also lived inside of me. We were both empty. We were both looking for something else. Something more. We both wanted to put together the shattered pieces of our yesterdays. Then perhaps we could finally remember how to breathe.