{"id":2493,"date":"2025-09-12T13:39:44","date_gmt":"2025-09-12T13:39:44","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/franciscogonzalez.com.ar\/escritos\/?p=2493"},"modified":"2025-09-12T13:43:41","modified_gmt":"2025-09-12T13:43:41","slug":"venta-y-vuelo","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/franciscogonzalez.com.ar\/escritos\/venta-y-vuelo\/","title":{"rendered":"8- Venta y vuelo"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p>Esta casa fue <strong>para\u00edso<\/strong> cuando el mundo era <strong>infierno<\/strong>. Hoy es <strong>tumba sin muerte<\/strong>: me recibe, me contiene, me exige <strong>irme<\/strong>. La vamos a <strong>vender<\/strong>. Lo escribo y la palabra <strong>pesa<\/strong>. Camino por las piezas como si fuera un museo de m\u00ed mismo: el <strong>caj\u00f3n<\/strong> donde guard\u00e9 culpas, la <strong>pared<\/strong> donde apoy\u00e9 la frente para no llorar, la <strong>ventana<\/strong> desde la que aprend\u00ed a mirar la ciudad como si fuera m\u00eda.<br>Despedirse <strong>duele distinto<\/strong>: no es la pu\u00f1alada conocida, es un <strong>vac\u00edo fr\u00edo<\/strong> que raspa los huesos. Pero ya perd\u00ed cosas peores: <strong>identidad<\/strong>, <strong>ganas de vivir<\/strong>, un tramo de <strong>esencia<\/strong>. Con esas p\u00e9rdidas aprend\u00ed <strong>herramientas<\/strong> para construir algo que aguante.<br>Esto es mirarme al <strong>espejo<\/strong> y decir <strong>soy esto<\/strong>. Pedir <strong>perd\u00f3n<\/strong> sin humillarme. <strong>Emendar<\/strong> donde pueda, no desde la c\u00e1tedra del adulto sino desde la <strong>intemperie<\/strong> del chico. <strong>Cierro<\/strong> la casa, no el amor: lo <strong>reoriento<\/strong>.<br>El Mandalay no es un lugar: es un <strong>modo de estar<\/strong>. Me voy <strong>liviano<\/strong>: suelto fantasmas, guardo la <strong>verdad<\/strong> y un pu\u00f1ado de im\u00e1genes. La paz <strong>no promete<\/strong>; <strong>sucede<\/strong> cuando uno deja de empujar la puerta equivocada. Giro la llave, la beso por costumbre, la dejo en manos de mi vieja. <strong>Salgo<\/strong>. El aire de la noche me pega en la cara y por primera vez <strong>no me lastima<\/strong>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Esta casa fue para\u00edso cuando el mundo era infierno. Hoy es tumba sin muerte: me recibe, me contiene, me exige irme. La vamos a vender. Lo escribo y la palabra pesa. Camino por las piezas como si fuera un museo de m\u00ed mismo: el caj\u00f3n donde guard\u00e9 culpas, la pared donde apoy\u00e9 la frente para [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_uag_custom_page_level_css":"","site-sidebar-layout":"default","site-content-layout":"","ast-site-content-layout":"default","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"","footer-sml-layout":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"set","ast-page-background-enabled":"default","ast-page-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"ast-content-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"footnotes":""},"categories":[12,7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2493","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-camino-al-mandalay","category-escritos"],"uagb_featured_image_src":{"full":false,"thumbnail":false,"medium":false,"medium_large":false,"large":false,"1536x1536":false,"2048x2048":false},"uagb_author_info":{"display_name":"Francisco Gonzalez","author_link":"https:\/\/franciscogonzalez.com.ar\/escritos\/author\/francis\/"},"uagb_comment_info":0,"uagb_excerpt":"Esta casa fue para\u00edso cuando el mundo era infierno. Hoy es tumba sin muerte: me recibe, me contiene, me exige irme. La vamos a vender. Lo escribo y la palabra pesa. Camino por las piezas como si fuera un museo de m\u00ed mismo: el caj\u00f3n donde guard\u00e9 culpas, la pared donde apoy\u00e9 la frente para&hellip;","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/franciscogonzalez.com.ar\/escritos\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2493","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/franciscogonzalez.com.ar\/escritos\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/franciscogonzalez.com.ar\/escritos\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/franciscogonzalez.com.ar\/escritos\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/franciscogonzalez.com.ar\/escritos\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2493"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/franciscogonzalez.com.ar\/escritos\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2493\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2508,"href":"https:\/\/franciscogonzalez.com.ar\/escritos\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2493\/revisions\/2508"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/franciscogonzalez.com.ar\/escritos\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2493"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/franciscogonzalez.com.ar\/escritos\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2493"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/franciscogonzalez.com.ar\/escritos\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2493"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}