Leonore drink wine in a glass, a cliche of life falls on the floor and breaks into pieces, each piece is a moment, a dream, breaking the silence in the room, forming words in the air, like a poem without verbs, like the Spotless Mind.
While the shadow of the curtains were moving slowly, she turned up to look at itself, I watched as he had changed, as the years laughed, - "Why do you laugh at me?" I ask them, they just smiled, while faded into obscurity until it was lost.
0 comments:
Post a Comment