¡no fumes!

jueves, septiembre 08, 2005


It's hot every night. Laying flat on our bed I see the ceiling fan, behind it, those nasty humidity stains someday I'll fix. I turn around thinking the heat has stopped even for a second, and there it is, your bike. I'm keeping it in the apartment until I can take it to your mother's house, little by little I detach from everything that's yours. The other things, I'm throwing out the window, see them fall one by one. They don't bleed, you know?. With them, I get rid of my anger. The distance and your silence is dimming the remaining flame left on my soul. I hope you're happy, me... It's hot every night.

(Escrito en una tibia noche de agosto 2002)


Blogger lagitti said...

Eso hasta parece que lo hubiera escrito yo! carajo cómo sufrimos igual algunas.

09 septiembre, 2005 09:34


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