Dear Estela
write early in morning. Today is Wednesday, and the afternoon will go to the office ... February
gives me the opportunity of a day off. Did you go back from your vacation? ... (As we agreed, I write every day).
gives me the opportunity of a day off. Did you go back from your vacation? ... (As we agreed, I write every day).
few days ago that everything that happens, go into the associative string of vacation: a trip to the beach, I hear planes from my bedroom window to start the morning, tickets are cheap I have the passport to be renewed. Well, now I think that I have to renew. Make new interpretations of what has been read, start a new book, rewrite.
When I was little, my parents were a little and warm house in the hills. Her dark brick walls at the entrance of the house, his name: "Villa Regina" in white wire.
We all loved that summer came to go to Villa, and during the year saw the photos of the holidays with the hope that summer will soon return. But my mother was wrong that she was very concerned that house, every time it rained in Buenos Aires, suffered it might rain in the mountains. And if it rained, the house suffered because he was so far away, and we learned that if it rained or not. What if an open window came the wind? ... Loved and hated that house, and sustained in the same proportion. Buy it
We all loved that summer came to go to Villa, and during the year saw the photos of the holidays with the hope that summer will soon return. But my mother was wrong that she was very concerned that house, every time it rained in Buenos Aires, suffered it might rain in the mountains. And if it rained, the house suffered because he was so far away, and we learned that if it rained or not. What if an open window came the wind? ... Loved and hated that house, and sustained in the same proportion. Buy it
was the brainchild of my old, liked the mountains, near the reeds, the smell of lavender in the evening, the noise the brook, and sing the Burrito Cordoba in the car while traveling.
He told us: "Look what !!!!"
mountains are mountains, he told me to show him wrong, to know more than him ... And he answered:" Those are things your mother ... "
mountains are mountains, he told me to show him wrong, to know more than him ... And he answered:" Those are things your mother ... "
My brother and me, we loved going to the montañasierras. The holidays came and my mother began to feel that it was difficult to leave one's house in Buenos Aires. Always it broke his heart between those two loves. It broke his heart ... when he died, I thought the same sentence ... he broke my heart, between not wanting to live longer able to walk, and having to leave us all without your presence.
To me it also broke my heart, but another heart.
It broke my heart word-or-n.
That day I began to write without restraint, all referred me to the phrase "broken heart" ... half red, black halves ruling masters, pain of love. Mom ...
Chau The nurse said, "do not know what happened ... was well ... we do not explain" ... Do not explain anything, you broke my heart ... like those that left pieces of witnesses, including the city and the mountains. The winds that swept the windows of your house, there in the distance, too buzzed him in the chest. Had the wind in the ribs, wind howling noise ... and that never wanted to disappear. We can not explain, he insisted the nurse looking at the empty table.
was the wind, rain, flies to whisper the last 45 years. That was. Do not explain.
Dear Estela, today rain in all directions in the mountains, in Croatia, in China.
tomorrow.
Thanks for reading. Ana
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