Seca la garganta, ni gruñe ni canta.
This proverb says that when the throat is dry it doesn’t sing. But our words got mixed up, we read lizard instead of throat, and a little fairytale was born.
A long time ago, when birds and lizards were still a tight-knit family, there was a little lizard that had a little bird for a sister. They still hadn’t left the nest, they were too young to fly, so, they spent their nights singing. But one day the sun rose, and the little lizard lost his voice. It dried in his throat. Because the little lizard had scales where his sister had feathers. And only those feathers found a way to cast shadows and protect his sister’s songs from the sun. The little bird never understood her brother’s loss. Their family broke. And lizards and birds never shared the sky again.
When I fly close to the sun, far away from you, I can stop singing. But when I go near you the song returns and you are the one that walks away from me.
I could have found a way to cope with the songs we both lost, if only I had wings too. We would have flown in silence, you and I. But the sun separated us. And that is what hurts me the most. That you have wings and I don’t.
Lizard: It’s not your fault. It’s not my fault. It was the sun. I don’t blame you for abandoning me. And I hope that you find it in your heart not to blame me. The sun was the one that separated us. But I won’t allow it to make me hate you. And I hope that neither do you.
Bird: I could never hate you. I could never blame you. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing does. Because no matter what we do, we will never be reunited.
My feathers protected me and I got rid of them. Too little, too late. The sun refuses to strip me of my songs. Now I am featherless. I cannot fly. And I no longer have an excuse not to sing.
I wish the sun had dried my hope too, not only my throat. Because I keep shedding my tail and hoping in vain that one day a pair of wings will grow in its place.
Lizard: I want to rip your wings. You can still sing. I can’t. But I can live with that. Because it hurts less than having you fly farther and farther away from me.
Bird: I cannot give you back what the sun took from you. I can only fly. So as not to sing. So as not to remind you of the first thing that separated us.
They say that the sky is empty, that there is silence. But the sky is full. Full of all the songs the sun took from my brother. And every time I fly, I have to listen to them.
When I sleep on the ground I remember my songs, because it has been touched by the sun that took them from me. But the saddest thing is that I never dream about you.
Bird: I promise you. I won’t sing ever again. Take my hand. I want you back.
Lizard: I wish I could. But singing was what brought us together. And if you quit, I’m afraid that I would have no reason to hold your hand.