con derecho a réplica

Jueves, 01 de diciembre de 2005

He left me...

My grandfather left me his cough, his hoarseness, his fallen eyes and his tickling in the feet when we placed in the bed of the hospital.

My grandfather left me a mid-written text, a tape full of feats in the voice of my grandmother, a bottle of oxygen in the shadow of the cinema door which is going to dissapear and a lot of videotapes, a lot of...

He left me and he left us, but he left her without strenght and memory. And he left empty his drawing-room, his house... with the windows closed and the neighbours waiting for him to put out his chair and to sit down for greeting.

My grandfather left me a jersey, some socks, a watch, toasts and a cold. Maybe, the most important he left me is my sister, he brings her back to us floating in his arms in the middle of the Mediterranean sea. My grandfather went away... naturally, as everybody, but he left me longing for writting.

Por: Sylvie | Some english lines | Comentarios (0) | Referencias (0)