A PLACE
Text for Theater Encounter,
for Usera district, Madrid, Spain
Moisés Mato
I’m sure that
there is a place in which I could be, at last, myself. I’m sure. I don’t want
to get desperate. You know, I know that this place exists. Maybe it’s near,
maybe it could even be here. I don’t know. The only thing that I know is that I
haven’t arrived there
yet.
It would be
terrible to think that a place where a soul could rest, without a need for
dying, doesn’t exist. A place, that I could call “home”, that could open its windows
and doors. A place, under which roof I could lie back and throw away the key to
the door forever, far away, as if saying to the people: ‘I am here. The door is
open, come on in. Those who would like to sleep under the stars can go up the
chimney. I reserved you some tiles by my side. I have some stories that have
never been told before. The time has come to spit out of my throat that which
has warmed my heart.’
Can you imagine?
Look. (Shows a
map of the world that (s)he had in the pocket. It’s shabby.)
