Sólo nada el nadador, porque nunca nada el suicida.
Sol o nada es su elección en el océano de seres.
O sea, no quiere ser ese que es.

viernes, 9 de abril de 2010


When I woke up this morning, I couldn't believe that I was there, in this bed. Then I turned my head to the left and my eyes were opened big, big, like the look of the chicken. My man was laying down on his back and a blood stain was appearing on the sheet.
I touched his cold skin and my hand took a red color. Suddenly I realized that I had a knife in another hand. What did happen when we were sleeping? It's truth that I had a nightmare, but it was only a bad dream. How did knife come to my hand? Why did I kill him?
I can't answer these questions while I watch the white wall.

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