Upon the walls hung up frames of those he knew and used to know. There were photos of the hard won victories and some of even the most heartbreaking of losses. It was the collective echo of the spirit of the club, of presidents, players, staff, fans, and the stadium, even the training ground that embodied it. Those who were loved here had been decorated all over these halls like monuments. They were emblems of what this club represented.
He dared not to look at the images of himself that were among these portraits. He didn’t want to expend too much energy on reminiscing about his time in the club. It wasn’t something he wanted to delve too much into. Both him being in La Masia, being a player in the first team, and coaching was long time ago. He had undone that belt.
- Part 1 of Happiness is Like a Monosyllable
Bookmarked by sevdepayne
11 Mar 2017