Where does a crying child?
From fear, helplessness.
A little cold and I remember many drops, filling the space between the garden and my door, between my school and home, between my hand and my kite. A little cold. A cloudy day in those that look the same throughout the city, because the colors seem to sleep and the cold canvas, memory hook. The drops running slow or stalled in the windshield. Eyes on the street and my mind looking for reasons, convincing reason which was perfect, when it was, what happened before. In the end, the corner, the engine stopped and the steps remaining on the wet pavement, smelling of suffocation. Some steps, a door, touch and eye expected. No answers sound, no interjections or questions. Only hope, shower rings and the minutes seem like forever. The magazine appears to have nothing in writing, then dreamed the same eyes, discovered the smoke and light green.
There are moments where the words left over, the silence seems too noisy to open the mouth. Over crowded roadways, causing cracks in the stairs nasty drawn. Then the cold, almost frozen lips and suddenly formed in my retinas in the light of those eyes discovered the smoke and light green. We knew it was time. Just close your eyes to feel the warming and lower lips touch her curves, caressing my cheek a brown tuft that was not mine but it was mine.
Then the drops are moving slowly or keep still on the windshield. The gray atmosphere, but the cold did not count.
a Monday, the rain had left the night and left his signature as known in the courtyard. The clouds have been killed, a little ray of sunshine. However, the cold again. Goodbye without conviction, the same eyes staring at the floor, the sky, to the left. The promise of return. The lack of strength to fade and settle the first feeling of fear.
Where is the cry of a man?
The fear, impotence, cold.