-Don't you see me? What are you waiting for?

Augusto did not recognize that unknown voice that invited him to go ahead, going down those stairs that descend in the shape of a spiral.

-Where are you?

He received no answer, only the sound of a current of air, as if at the end there was a way out somewhere. Determined, he began to descend into the unknown driven by an inexplicable attachment that was accompanied by a sense of wonder that took hold of him as he looked at the walls full of images that seemed to be woven despite being in the finest of stones accompanied by a black and bluish geometric pattern.

The voice kept calling him, each time with more impatience, with greater need. In turn, Augusto went from walking to almost running as he descended the endless stairs, escorted by walls that told an endless story with the utmost luxury and eccentricity.

The feeling of infinity came to a crushing end when he came upon a sort of entrance that was only covered by a thin veil with flamboyant decorations, which led him to a circular room with a fountain in the center.

-I've been here before, but when?

-Where are you Augusto? I'm waiting for you.

-Keep talking, I don't see you!

Suddenly, there was a multitude of entrances just like the one he first encountered, but from them came not only the voice that was now so familiar but which he did not remember, but also from his friends, past loves and even enemies.

-Augusto, you must learn to accept defeat.

-Why didn't you go that day?

-Who are you to put limits on me?

-Power does not accept the weak.

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-What happens if you win?

-Leadership is work

-It's the path you chose

-Don't look back, not today.

He did his best to cling desperately to the soft and compassionate voice of the boy who was calling him to leave behind those who were chasing him, until finally, between two entrances with the same veil, he found one that led him to where the young man he was apparently looking for was.

In a room adorned with paintings of ancient battles, looking behind a window that seemed to show the infinite cosmos as the great astronomers of the east had dreamed it, was the source of that voice, a boy in his twenties, white as milk and with golden hair who turned to see him with an expression as happy as sharp, directing his eyes, as blue as the deep oceans of Sexausenia, to his own, brown as the swamps of the south.

That was when he finally recognized him.

-Kristhian... Is it really you?

Clearly happy, he approached Augusto taking his hand, which he brought close to his face.

-Of course I am, can't you feel it?

Augustus only had the strength to embrace him and cry disconsolately before the one who had been his greatest love.

He pushed him away for a moment, wiping away his tears.

-You must not suffer, you know well that I have been very happy. But you must let go.

Confused, she looked at him and Augusto abruptly grabbed her wrist. His countenance changed from sadness to frustration.

-Why do you have to go? What have I done to you? Please tell me." Although he tried to sound as stern as possible, he could not prevent his voice from cracking at the end of the sentence.

-You are not my soul, Augustus, and even if you do more than the impossible, there are some things that cannot be changed.

Augustus sat down in a nearby chair, defeated and crying again. He had lost all the vitality of his quest in a kind of deep sorrow that was haunted by the presence of his friend.

Kristhian approached, sitting down beside him and with a gentle gesture, placed his hand on the young brunet's back.

-This is not the end, it's just a different way of loving. You don't have to suffer, you don't have to cry, you don't have to curse and you don't have to look for an explanation. You just have to let go.

He looked directly into his eyes, lost in the endless blue of his gaze.

-Let go?

And everything went dark.

He was back in the room, in his bed, with his alarm clock and his thousand tasks to accomplish. He looked around and, as usual, found himself alone in his abode. He was at the head of a community, representing his interests, but in the end, there was no one.

There was no one but himself, his thoughts, his emotions and longings. He tried to cry at the memory of what he dreamed, but he could not.

It had been many years since he had lost that ability, before he knew that he could never be happy with him, before he began to dream and long before he even came across the deep and peaceful ocean he saw through his eyes.