Her hand barely had the strength to hold the mug, but she was on it. In trying to drink that mug of hot milk, more out of convenience for her health than out of a real desire to eat, those lax, wrinkled fingers were warmed by the warmth and proximity to the metal container. There had come a time when I could no longer appreciate any significant changes in her, it was a stable situation frozen in time, captured in that position of her, sitting in front of breakfast, all that was giving me the false sensation of eternity.

I used to spend time with my grandmother, precisely because I knew that I wouldn't have her forever. They were those moments of asking already known questions, though already knew the answers, but it was a kind of protocol or ceremony when meeting again: -“how are you, grandma? Do you eat well?”-...

All the room was permeated by the smell of the toasted cereals that were in that milk, kind of smell that reminded me of her. In the meanwhile, we talked, I listened to her, but I was very intrigued by the fact that from time to time she would acquire that lost look, a look that rests, as if she were sleeping, but with her eyes wide open. Contemplating my grandmother in that state, made me feel sad, because she seemed more lost between two worlds, between the current day and her actual past, between life and the unknown.

Many times, it was a matter of inquiring into the cunning of doing such an abstraction: - “What are you thinking, Grandma? “-, I had no idea where that gaze lost in time would walk.

And from time to time, she could put in her mouth a piece of bread that she had dipped in milk, sort of grandparents' breakfast; while there were all kinds of pastries, refined industrial sweets... she was like all grandparents were: she broke pieces of bread that he soaked in milk.

In those moments, I relaxed myself in that special house, with those characteristic smells around, smells from the past... that dim light, those potted plants that refreshed the atmosphere of the rooms.

He fact is that, I knew that my grandmother was not forever, that I would not have her all the time and looking at her face, her lost look, I thought to myself: - “this is not forever” - and so I tried to record those images in my mind. In a way to be able to carry them with me at all times.

What intrigued me the most? Her lost look... I didn't know at times where my grandmother was, at what moment in her life, but there was one thing I was sure of, my grandmother looked back. She was already more part of her past than her own present.

Sometimes it is convenient to look backwards in time, thinking about all those moments in which we have been complete, remember those people who walked our same path, who we were lucky enough to meet.

The brain is strange, its curves, its connections, its way of storing experiences, but there is something certain and that is: opposed to complexity of the brain, there are feelings, so strong, so pure, easier to understand and with a potential that sometimes slips out of our hands.

It's interesting to look back in time.