Perdidas — Almas

He didn’t cry. He just looked at her face and said, “I’m coming home.”

The woman held her son tighter. “Then I’ll stay.” almas perdidas

He led her not to the river, but to the old cemetery on the hill, where the forgotten graves leaned like crooked teeth. At the center stood a cistern, dry for a hundred years, its mouth a black circle. He didn’t cry