Coses que mai compartirem. Things we'll never share.

So, this is going to be a special story as it will have both the Catalan and the English version. Those who know me are aware I hardly ever write in Catalan, but it felt wrong not having this one in my own language.

Estimat Biel, 

He estat esperant la teva arribada durant molt temps, planificant cada segon, no et pots ni imaginar fins a quin detall he arribat a pensar en totes aquelles coses que hàuriem pogut fer junts. Tot per res, per què no vindràs. 

No vindràs i ara jo em dedico a passejar per la ciutat pensant en les coses que no compartirem. En com mai podrem anar al carrer Petrixol a gaudir de l'olor de xocolata desfeta. En com no veuré el reflex dels llums de Nadal en els teus ulls foscos. En com no passarem hores a Sant Felip Neri asseguts al costat de la font. En com no buscarem música pels carrers del Gòtic o anirem al mercat de menjar de Santa Maria del Pi. En com no ens meravellarem junts davant dels vitralls de Santa Maria del Mar. Ni passejarem pel Born de nit desprès de la pluja per a acabar al Fossar de les Moreres veient la flama ballar en la foscor de la nit. Tampoc anirem al Passeig Marítim els dies que faci vent mentre la mar, capriciosa, juga a xocar contra els trencaonades. 

Hi ha tantes coses que haguèssim pogut fer. Tantes esperances posades en la teva arribada que van desaparèixer en el moment en que vaig sentir que deixaves de moure't dins meu. Tantes llàgrimes vesades. Però les llàgrimes no van servir per tornar-te a la vida i, ara, mai arribaràs i tot el que em queda és una llista de coses que mai compartirem. 

Mare. 

Dear Biel, 

I've been waiting for you for a really long time, planning every second, you can't even imagine the detail at which I have thought about the things we could have done together. Uselessly, as you will never come. 

You will never come and I wander around the city thinking about the things we will never share. How we will never be able to go to the Petrixol Street to enjoy the scent of hot chocolate. How I will never see the reflection of the Christmas lights on your dark eyes. How we will never spend hours sitting by the fountain in Sant Felip Neri. How we will never look around for live music around the streets in the Gòtic quarter or how we will never go to the farmers' market in Santa Maria del Pi. How we will never stare in awe at the colored glass in Santa Maria del Mar. Or how we will never walk around at night in the Born quarter after the rain to end up watching the dance of the fire against the darkness of night in the Fossar de les Moreres. We will never go to the Passeig Marítim on windy days while the fickle sea playfully crashes against the breakwaters. 

There are so many things we could have done. I had some many hopes placed on your arrival that vanished the moment I felt how you stopped moving inside me. So many tears. But tears couldn't bring you back to life and now you'll never arrive and all I'm left with is a list of things we'll never share. 

Mother.