Cubefield That You Can Post To Facebook

A slam

That was not how they act, or so she thought at least. Clearly wary of their suspicion was, at least, a routine protocol to be crossed every time I looked at that letter, resting on the table, breathing in his words, the ink pulsing through the arteries of paper. Can not be said to Mercedes, he does not. But reread and reread and was faced with the evidence that those words, which scraped the edge of the sheet as if about to dispose of their eyes, belonged to him, they were all for it known, and he described to him, with that convoluted inconsistency with which they tend to unite, inextricably, phrases and lyrics universal, people and moments. I do not want to see, Mercedes, no place for him. If you had known him ... And then looked down, and she knew her friend, Ellen, would be ready to flee perpetually man she loved. The always said daughter, you rebel against things more than the hair that God has given grace rebelled against thee. So one morning, she knocked on his door and said goodbye, went, where? I do not know, said, further, where we can not reunite. On your desktop, left two porcelain figurines, a legacy of the former tenant of the flat and she quickly hid in a drawer because they always hated the porcelain, the letter, opened as a small tablecloth on which she breadcrumbs off as forming a cartilage tears mingled blood clot, and finally, a small, safe fork in her hair.

The second slow in coming three months. This time the envelope was blue, dark blue sea Elena looked at him in front of her, and thought the resemblance was no accident, so before opening the envelope, a gesture, perhaps negligible, but the gesture after all, was drawn on his face: it was that he hated, perhaps because it did not belong and trying to grab it, it trickled between his fingers as they slip the memories of others. not even have to be certain is to come told Javier, his only human contact since I got there. He remembered when he, a night like any other if not because it was that night, walked out the front door while she's Elena then, recalled with nostalgia the crunch of the lock, a few hours earlier, had led a discussion about whose turn it was greased on this occasion. On it then hung the final crunch, and felt that familiar sound that had accompanied them both for years, had been without them knowing it, the sound of his farewell. Javier woke up one day and, in the direction of Elena's house, found the door open, a letter on the table, and she surreptitiously placed a fork. And without knowing why, felt as if the apartment had been filled with snow-white, as empty as the hollow space that drew the absence of Elena on that ground, that table, those misplaced books, empty space to chart forever and in his footsteps and the fleeting footsteps of her, so faint, so light, which appear to even dreamed of by the snow in a period of entrevela.

was installed on the other coast, after an endless journey exhausted his strength. This time, he thought, he suffered from my inability to stop him. I saw him at the door, watching me, and I cried, I cried so hard that tears sewed my mouth. Then I said goodbye. And now again, perhaps to test me again. She kept forgetting to add but this city never find achieved. Buffing your mailbox on Sunday morning, began to live the slow pace which imposed the place, which breaks followed and memories, appeared at the periphery, in that small space of your memory with this boundary, as a timid overcoming space dock Elena had come between them. not be so simple, so simple will not be made each morning while, as if it were a nice neglect, deposited their clothes pins in each café where he sat, patiently, to wait.