the end is just draw a line between memory and forgetting; out of your life and transform those infertile times, by word, in something much less useful to emptiness. Nadia tries to explain, but the memory remains and threatens to grow. He listens, his head buried in the pages of the newspaper, his feet treading the old shoes singles. Their memories are on the other hand, Nadia, Nadia, repeat yearning, even if the named so close to him, separated only by the steaming coffee at 8 am, and yet so far.
He read on, it is transported elsewhere, at least it works for now.
He read on, it is transported elsewhere, at least it works for now.
Juan Secaira V. Ecuador
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