Walking down the streets, a dry road, lost in my thoughts, not a single person. Only him, ruffling my hair, as usual, and slowing my march. I just want to get home. Faster than the wind, more slowly than light. You could give me a warm breeze, but not warm me to my bones. Not heard but contempt of your name, dishonoring the name of the wind to the nth. However, the sun... when shone always pleased everyone. I guarded thee, I embrace myself into my red coat to keep your shakes. I was looking for tricks, alleys, walls ... anything to avoid you, however you long appeared. But who are we going to cheat? I've always preferred the gray days. An autumn so variable, he had not gone away, still looking at me, giving me memories from afar. It was me the one sitting in the window,looking how you shaked them all, and me,safeguard at home, laughed about all these doomed, unconscious I would go out someday. So cynical, so fast, you runned around the street, under skirts and dresses, ...
"Detrás de este triste espectáculo de palabras, tiembla indeciblemente la esperanza de que me leas, de que no haya muerto del todo en tu memoria." Julio Cortázar.