segunda-feira, 4 de março de 2013

What I am made

The year was 1993 when we first met. I was 15 at the time and many, many illusions (which I don´t rarely confused with dreams) in life.

I was strolling in the city near where he lived.

He was handsome, older than me (not very difficult thing for a girl), black hair and white skin. Serious way, but sometimes we could see a smile. Beautiful and sad smile.

There was many words written and  delivered (more on her part), has long been dedicated to something that neither of them understood very well. I always thought that was special. Well, it was, actually.

It had everything to be a Mexican Novel: city girl with a country boy, her parents didn´t approve it.

Time passed and both still believing. She, at least, more than him (always the same).

Many years later, he changed.

He changed his way, city, State ...

Then, the distance went to collaborate with time to convert it not so special. That was ugly, far and dark.

The phone rang on 20 years later. To her surprise, she heard his voice from the other side: I needed to say goodbye because I don´t like to leave anything “in a half way”.

He worried doing the right end. But he didn´t have the same worry in the beginning and middle of the history.

It was as if someone could read the mind of the writer of the story ... The end was very obvious.

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