I got your letter as usual on the exact day. Today I sent the response. I did, I do not know why, go to a building high beside the channel to send. Do not know why there. But I've gone, I've sent. I will soon. All the way trying to tell me I do not know why he had to give up the correspondence. But no. They will pick you up a gentle heat, and put his hands in his pockets to forget the cold of the bike. I've already gone and I'm back and I am now again in the house. And here, inside, there is a sign in the mirror. Spiegel puts it somewhere, then another, Wer bist du. At first I enjoyed watching every day writing Wer bist du, but now it's as if I had made a hole somewhere in that sentence and I get lost I miss you, I mean, all the known world in the nerves of an avocado plant abandoned in the street. Here's all true. It's as if everyone here believed to have brought to this city, this neighborhood, the center of the world suddenly. But it is not true and they know it. And that's not arrogance. No. The people move as close to the root, give things, believe in something beyond the material and sometimes seems to go down the street thinking about that something and that's why they smile so. The subway there are days that smell yeast dough and taken inside a very old jackets fashionable women and men in suits standing they read. There is also an invisible rain takes seven days falling on open containers and schoolyards. But despite all that easy to change the way city with state of fear. Close your eyes and everything is like when I was child and sometimes it was dark and the canal opened in closed box and everything was full of witches, male patch, green jelly monsters. That, too, I told you. But you longer, slower the better.
0 comments:
Post a Comment