I have hands-impregnated rain-saturated hair and the breeze. I do not hear another sound than my own heart filling my ears. The bus speeds and humidity cold coming through the window violently brushing my cheeks.
I hardly remember what it feels to say your name aloud, but I clearly remember the sound of mine on your lips ...
"Laura" ... It sounded sweet ... It was now time to really feel that my name was mine, when you painted the color of my skin and made him my eyes and my mouth and smell forgotten victories.
I think I liked to call me. That was why, so often, I was the victim and I turned around, without any sincere intention to walk away ... Just so you run to catch up and say "Laura" ...
now do not know if you remember me sometimes, if you think of my eyes, my mouth, I smell victory forgotten. Not if you need to give me around just so you run to catch up. Not if you ever really knew how much I wanted but did not say. Have not only returned to say my name aloud, as he walked next to you distracted, as when he was away from the crowd, like when you were afraid of losing, like when she hugged me and talked to the ear as we were only you and me, and my name echoed throughout the room. It has not returned to speak because they have not returned to moving the trees in the same way in the evening, he has not shine the same lucerito on the moon, the sea did not roar asking us to go to keep him company ... because they also miss the sweet sound of my name on your lips.
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To Simon.
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