“But Paris was a very old city and we were young and nothing was simple there, not even poverty, nor sudden money, nor the moonlight, nor right and wrong nor the breathing of someone who lay beside you in the moonlight.”

E. Hemingway.
"París era una fiesta"


Showing posts with label Tori Amos. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tori Amos. Show all posts

Wednesday, 27 January 2016

Strange little girl

 Hay cientos de cosas que ella ha tratado de ahuyentar las cosas que no quiere recordar y en las que ni siquiera se permite pensar porque entonces gritan los pájaros y los gusanos se retuercen y en alguna parte de su cabeza siempre cae una llovizna lenta y eterna.

Sabrás que se fue del país, que había un regalo que quería darte pero se perdió antes de llegar a ti. Una noche, ya tarde, el teléfono cantará, y una voz que podría ser la suya dirá algo que no puedes interpretar antes de que la conexión cruja y se rompa.

Años más tarde,  desde un taxi, verás a alguien junto a una verja que se parece a ella, pero habrá desaparecido para cuando hayas convencido al conductor de parar. No la verás nunca más.

Cada vez que llueve piensas en ella.  

Neil Gaiman



Tuesday, 16 October 2012

I am not in love

And then there was the time that one of them simply wouldn't return her calls to his office. So she called the number he did not know that she had, and she said to the woman who answered that this was so embarrassing but as he was no longer talking to her, could he be told that she was still waiting for the return of her lacy black underthings, which he had taken because, he said, they smelled of her, of both of them. Oh, and that reminded her, she said, as the woman on the other end of the phone said nothing, could they be laundered first, and then simply posted back to her. He has her address. And then, her business joyfully concluded, she forgets him utterly and forever, and she turns her attention to the next.

One day she won't love you too. It will break your heart. 

Neil Gaiman