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I remember my grandfather sitting in the rocking chair in the living room, watching Labordeta sending people to hell or the backpack, or watching old black and white film with a lousy audio. The rocking chair creaked with their rhythmic movements. My grandmother sat in another chair, but did not move, and doing cross stitch and occasionally say something, looked at my grandfather, smiling, and seguíaa his own.

My grandfather also fell from time to time at the carnage, grabbed knives and sharpening poníaa. It was the only thing left to do now. That and remember the order of the ingredients of the skewers. & Qrcaba him at first did not recognize me, but then let me give you a kiss and I wondered about.

At noon, when they ate, I subíaa see them. And my grandfather was sitting in the chair eating a soup, my grandmother with the food cart on the side. I always offered to eat with them and I never accepted.

Now I repent. The rocker and Labordeta chirríay not been silenced for ever, like my grandfather, but was never very talkative. When I saw the coffin I squeezed her hand to Harvey and said, "I believe my grandfather was higher." I could out of my mind. CHTML

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All children mystify his birth.

Yesterday I was reminded of that phrase while watching the man's body. The wagon train over it. Health services working in vain. Curious people who gathered to watch and others who were too quick to realize that a man had just died, that the train had passed over him and crushed his chest.

All children mystify his birth, and adults mystify his death, I thought. Are said to die in a comfortable bed, surrounded by his family, and have had a full and happy life, you will not regret anything and que spesa not leave.

But that man sure knew that tomorrow would be the last day of his life. Sure did not tell his wife how much he wanted, and their children. You may expect your friends to watch the game in the bar life. Just then he had to take the dog, or make dinner, or eat with love and affection that had developed involuntary. Caminanado down the street were looking at people as they untangle the knot in your throat and you saw they did not know fifty feet away a man had just died. Were in a hurry, the bus caught a miracle, they bought, re & iac

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I'm losing. Yes, yes, and not look at me with that face because you know it's true. Although we like to pretend it is not so, it is. And now I mourn not work in the evening and next morning to do as it has not happened. For every tear that has eluded us has created a river between us. And you know what a river on earth with the passage of time: a valley. Yes, yes, a valley. The problem is that we spend too much time left and the river of tears has dried up and now the valley is too deep to call Valley. Now only the abyss. And you're there, we ah & iacutee;, one meter away, but look down da vertigo. And look forward too, because I do not know what to expect. And I fear that the promises and the "forever" remain mere empty words, because, believe me, I never said anything that did not believe, and that I talk a lot.

But you know what I mean, right? Secrets that are now, malicious eyes of the lost confidence of all that hurts just thinking about it. There is no such evenings of laughter, confessions, nonsense ... So long that we have nothing of that which I seem distant memories, the kind of infanca that are remembered with a smile and a suspway, I'm preparing another. Because I can not end here. I will apply the story and move on. I will tear the guts twelve years and still half empty, but still, who cares how. And then maybe one day your sun and mine placed on the same west.

you fall from your pedestal of a goddess that I had raised. You have been dropped. But I tried to jump and reach out and I fell into the abyss.






(This morning I spoke of the song that escuho. Now I understand it, and sadly it is thanks

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tears stuck in her throat, and yet you do not know why you want to mourn. "Vistimista? No, victim. Victim of a crazy world.