Where the Cliff Keeps Its Breath

More about Where the Cliff Keeps Its Breath

Rafito el Varado arrived at the cliff by accident, which was the only way he ever arrived anywhere important. The sea below was the color of melted glass bottles, the kind you find half-buried behind taverns, still holding a rumor of sweetness. The rock face had been hollowed by time into two great mouths, as if the land itself had once tried to speak and then thought better of it.

Above the caves sat a house with green shutters, calm and undecided, like someone who had moved there to finish a thought but never did. Rafito stood among potted cacti—plants that looked like they had memorized patience—and listened to the water breathing against stone.

He had been stranded for so long that being stranded had become his occupation. If asked, he would have said he was a coastal specialist, an expert in pauses. He carried no luggage, only a notebook with blank pages that felt heavy from all the things he hadn’t written yet.

The sea caves reminded him of pockets in old coats—places where you might still find a coin, a ticket stub, or a sentence you once meant to say. He imagined rowing into them, letting the light dim, letting his thoughts echo until they simplified themselves. Rafito believed that echoes were thoughts that had been given another chance.

A breeze passed through the pines above the cliff, and the trees leaned together briefly, like conspirators. Rafito nodded, as if he understood. He often nodded at landscapes. It made them feel less alone.

Down below, the water shifted from turquoise to a darker blue, the way moods do when no one is watching. Rafito removed his shoes—not because he planned to swim, but because shoes sometimes ask too many questions. Barefoot, he felt the chalky warmth of the stone and thought about how cliffs were just beaches that had made up their minds.

He sat, opened his notebook, and wrote a single line: Today the land remembered something before I did. Then he closed the book. That was enough.

As the afternoon leaned toward evening, the house above the caves caught the light and briefly looked inhabited by someone’s future. Rafito smiled. He didn’t need to go inside. Some places are better understood from the outside, especially when you’re already stranded in exactly the right spot.