Red Haired Hugging Doll
“They call me the hugging doll because I shelter the pain with my long arms. Those that welcome all the people with whom we shared the forced disappearance of our relatives. Those people who, with the passing of time, lose their faces in the memories of others, but I don't know where the one who one day left home and never returned is, the one we only know what he was dressed for. That's why, every day I wear my best clothes, hoping that upon his return, I'll find my best embroideries, the ones I learned to do during this wait and that have allowed me to heal my pain a little, but they hold in each stitch the absence of the one I love. I don't wear shoes because they no longer bother me and can't bear my walking. There are many roads I have traveled, in rain and sun, covering my face with my hair to hide my pain, the one who no longer has a face, and my pain, the one who no longer has a face and mixes with the uncertainty of not knowing about the one I continue searching for, without losing hope of our meeting.”
“They call me the hugging doll because I shelter the pain with my long arms. Those that welcome all the people with whom we shared the forced disappearance of our relatives. Those people who, with the passing of time, lose their faces in the memories of others, but I don't know where the one who one day left home and never returned is, the one we only know what he was dressed for. That's why, every day I wear my best clothes, hoping that upon his return, I'll find my best embroideries, the ones I learned to do during this wait and that have allowed me to heal my pain a little, but they hold in each stitch the absence of the one I love. I don't wear shoes because they no longer bother me and can't bear my walking. There are many roads I have traveled, in rain and sun, covering my face with my hair to hide my pain, the one who no longer has a face, and my pain, the one who no longer has a face and mixes with the uncertainty of not knowing about the one I continue searching for, without losing hope of our meeting.”
“They call me the hugging doll because I shelter the pain with my long arms. Those that welcome all the people with whom we shared the forced disappearance of our relatives. Those people who, with the passing of time, lose their faces in the memories of others, but I don't know where the one who one day left home and never returned is, the one we only know what he was dressed for. That's why, every day I wear my best clothes, hoping that upon his return, I'll find my best embroideries, the ones I learned to do during this wait and that have allowed me to heal my pain a little, but they hold in each stitch the absence of the one I love. I don't wear shoes because they no longer bother me and can't bear my walking. There are many roads I have traveled, in rain and sun, covering my face with my hair to hide my pain, the one who no longer has a face, and my pain, the one who no longer has a face and mixes with the uncertainty of not knowing about the one I continue searching for, without losing hope of our meeting.”