Florecen las desangradas amapolas
en inútiles sollozos, trémulas de gozo
inocencia de ensangrentadas alboradas
I saw her eyes in the middle of thousand faces in gray. I recognize myself in her, my past. Suddenly I start to remember a place, a melody, a particular smell, the smell of cigar and perfume. But I'm not able to remember her voice (even the name of that creature).
In my memories, she's with someone, at the beginning I can't see them very clearly, all is foggy, like London streets. But I have feelings, familiar sensations to me, closer words, undreamed reasons. We're near to each other.
I'm seeing his eyes, blue eyes, deep and dark, I want to cry, to shout his name, our name.
Again, the smell of cigar, the fragrance of a forgotten perfume, now, the sound of water.
Her eyes, seeing me through all those gray faces with no expression, just in gray, confused with the stage, part of the show. Just she in front of me, seeking for something that i've lost many years ago.
She's in the middle, just in the middle of a multitude of unknown people. Maybe in another time, not today, i'm with someone, who makes me feel safe. Safe in my own castle, there's no risks here. No doubts. I'm sat in a strange place, but today i'm more stronger than yesterday.
I'm sat, quietly, just listening a poet, talking about things that I don't want to understand today (weakness)She's far from me, Suddenly our eyes meet in a brief space. She's surrounded by thousands of faces in gray.
de diurnas ideas
Cansada y desvelada.
Hoy he escuchado la parte más sublime de Madama Butterfly, la ópera de Puccini; pieza que siempre relaciono con rosas rojas.
Y mientras la repasaba mentalmente una rosa roja se deshoja en mi imaginación bajo el ritmo y la cadencia de la ópera que repaso mentalmente.
Inmediatamente se accionan los engranes de mi memoria y comienzo a recordar... "Memories" de Katsuhiro Otomo... "La rosa mágnetica". De ahí que Madama Butterfly la asocie con rosas... rojas...