(For Lea Lipkovo, my dear woman, with a longing that undoes me. 05/01/1980 - 31/01/2009)
I open the door one last time. I invite you in?
I'ma be old. Little can never forget what I saw, much he felt, the exaggeration of everything I said and I was forced to listen. The world, this world, I went inside the eye as sunlight in Africa squarely in the wake of a drunk. I opened my mouth as if hours had passed since the last time he had inspired me and life went thundering, bursting with everything inside me to pass as a compact mass of water in the last seconds of life as a castaway. Asked Him to come?
I open the door and see me there in the distance checkered shorts and dirty smile of a child. Look! And there I'm floating far away from the coast. Growing up, my God! I do not use more checkered shorts. Now only seen me with beer bottles and occasional shots of vodka, often torn pants, a feeling often hurt all ...
Beyond the open door there is still this country who dreamed from an early age and leave behind so far, maybe you can feel the lack. Nothing has changed here. Became decades and were essential, as heaps of the same shit drought spread through the streets. Invite me out but I'm not already. Just a few more minutes please.
Beyond the open door is also all that I am now here. From arms down as the ultimate idiot glued to the side of the body, do not avoid smiling at those who accompanied me to come to this site. Mother, father, asking you to flee, but no longer believe there is nothing for you elsewhere. Forgive me. If you show me otherwise I promise one day be happy. But for now, come, come into the house and wait for me in the room. I'll be back.
I keep inside. I know that here, somewhere in a room more secluded, there is still someone who should be remembered, inevitably going by the hundreds of people who marked me and shot my hat now, yet it has never been my habit to use it. I
opening doors behind doors. One after another until you find! In a room full of clarity, submerged in a beautiful winter sunshine, you're sitting on the floor leaning against an old brown couch, and you look at me with a sad smile. Right here I swear I'll never forget it! The sun comes through the window behind you explodes in red your red hair. Slow, sad smile, old as I, groom yourself with the right hand while the other grabs those long hair by way of horse-tail. After paras, looking at me, and lieth the brush on the floor beside you. I approach you, me down to get you through his hair, to kiss his face and forehead, you apologize for not able to give you my skin and my color. And you stay well, with the sun behind you as I think of how to say goodbye, the slumped shoulders and arms glued to the sides of the body as the ultimate slob ever got used to be. You invite me to stay?
I turn to the exit. Do not look back by fear and leave the room with the red secluded heated above the entrance door. Down the hall there I am far, plaid shorts, floating farther and farther from the coast in a sea of \u200b\u200bskim milk and tasteless. Having grown up! That's when I start to run in silence towards the exit door more and more distant. I just sweat and uncoordinated beating of my heart, while the vegetation is growing on the walls behind me, around me, in front of me ... My steps dive in waters that have invaded the house floor. I just miss you and this distressing smell of green and earth. Close to home, never to return.
Amo-te Lea.
