[brief lapse of time seems very long in which I try to write moments that come and go quickly in my head as if a child playing with the Moviola of my memories, as if the frenzied movement of my thoughts out to the rhythm of the flashing lights of passing cars, sped up by my own blood running wildly and without charge.]
"not even asked me to close eyes just light goes out.
And darkness was very similar to that floods my eyes now. "
Sophie took a last drag on his cigarette, turning the now empty coffee cup on the pan, leaving a 5 bill euros on the table and left the bar onto a street with those who are always so crowded that it is impossible not to feel alone. I had forgotten the old umbrella was used to load and just then a few drops to soaking the ice began hair.
In the ideal scene that was drawing in his head, a pair of Moroccan looked askance, while some French envied him his pride to walk. Who really knows if everything happened as she had written in his script perpetual, the fact is that after so many years playing the role he had written to herself in the work of his life, and did not know how not to act.
But if he was sure about it, was that if there was any truth in it was that love the rain when stroked.
years dragged drops of ink with which he had written the story of her skin.
"I'm losing me into you ... What did you do ?..."
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