Amara Everyday tired rises. Dawns and the day is not clear. After she, a great cloud of dust. The weight of your shoulders is as usual: or higher, or lighter.
Another winter has passed and the wounds are still festering as if these were recent. The kettle steaming is the only company at that hour of the morning. So many years together, and she continues to feel a girl. Clumsy. Sometimes helpless.
Carlos is still present in his eyes, on the kitchen chair, making that unbearable tintiteno with spoon as she realizes that rain has again dawn in her eyes. Sad. Dark and tired.
A song in a television commercial reminds tardy. Bring some beautiful black heels. Those who never wanted to put Carlos and beg him over and over again. Like so much else. Like so many dances that they never let defeat.
Silence. Flowers at the entrance. The door closes. Heels, keys, Amara flowers and not rush late. Cross the park and remember a white sheet, songbirds and the first flight of the hand of the.
The cemetery is closed. The pills do not effect the nerves and not know what to do. Kisses. Other kisses. More people. Stranger kisses. Factitious kisses.
Carlos's sister. White tulips in their hands. The tomb continues as usual. Cleaning. Pure. Free of dead leaves or dried. Amara looks at his shoes and smiles bitterly. Ana grimaces and confirms that they have been put to the. Ana does not hide your dark circles and synchronized hand pass by a photo of the.
Hugs wreck your body. Can not remember if I take the pills. Murmurs she is tired. Can not remember when was the last time you discussed with Carlos. A year is too long but death had no present plans to make excuses or. Silence is a sweet kiss and kisses are the lips of one who makes teaspoon clinking with you.
sent Want to Collaborate? by Andrea