There is a geyser age in which the best summer of your life erupts.

You come from Panini and football cards; of the other Cartesian summers with beach, parents and brother; of the last board games and Nestea.

Then, fium, in the best summer of your life they appear as if by magic not only the beans but the friends. The songs that will accompany you throughout existence, the first sunrises without sleeping on the pediment, that lot of forbidden and new things, the kisses that you still don't know how to give because there is no tutorial to teach you, all those unforgettable moments to which you will return 20 years later. Or 40. And still today. When you're crap you prefer a cruise before the crew.

It is the best summer of your life and you have just sealed an unwavering loyalty with blood: it has to do with a place. One that does not need to be especially beautiful. Nor that it has a beach. No disco. No tourists There is nowhere like a small town to travel the entire world.

(...)

The best summer of your life is in the teens of 15. And at 16. And at 17. And at 18. Then you grow and the sixth best summer of your life you realize you've seen your parents three hours in the last five days. That they don't treat you like a girl or a boy anymore. And that getting older, go, is to go groove with uncertainties that are going to more.

With time you discover that happiness was that trial-error and those first house keys that you were entrusted with. Those moments in front of the mirror believing you older and the night flying bike like ET's. "Leave me half an hour more, mom" and "Juan is for Vero." The "let's eat in the rock" and, of course, "this is the best summer of my life."

Now I have a job that is exactly what I dreamed of, I finished those studies that I hated so much, I got a house that I finished paying (as a child I became obsessed with finishing under a bridge), I have reached 48 getting to do the pine, I have been in places incredible, I have met memorable people, I want and I feel loved, I am seeing my healthy and radiant children in that geyser age, I have a comfortable armchair with earmuffs.

And yet.

And yet when September arrives, I think that - I travel where I travel, spend the pasta I spend, whatever I do - the best summer of my life will never come back.

According to the criteria of The Trust Project

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