A spell mode: random
That leads me to your shore, wave or wind
, take your course,
until you come and beat you my tenderness. Dario Jaramillo Agudelo
That leads me to your shore, wave or wind
, take your course,
until you come and beat you my tenderness. Dario Jaramillo Agudelo
I have a house full of absences. You went on a Sunday and left them all scattered to get out the door. I followed you. Behind you was submissive, awake but asleep, dreaming that it was a dream that you were not going. Drunk with you, you two-day, in the wake of your kisses. I would have gone to the ends of the world. I know right?
But nothing moved from its place just you and that damn plane flying over the village. As the morning blackbirds, who accompany me when I'm way to work and settle in large poster tidy road. And look at all the same black as the West and bring me a certainty of my life. My life without you. From Monday to Sunday without you. From 1 to 28 without you.
Then I came home and I found them all, all waiting for your absences. Almost asking explanations. Why do not you take them? Now I do not know what to do with them. They fight to get my attention. How silly! As if you do not see one by one, parading in front of my nostalgia, going to my sadness. The thing is I do not know what to do with them. And I come to mind the verses of the poet could sort the colors, sizes ... I do not see your bare feet under the table when I sit down to eat. Not in my comings and goings of the room to the kitchen. My hips do not bump into your hands in the hallway or on stairs. Is not your smile in the mirror when I shower, behind the water droplets in the bulkhead. No love left me with eyes closed, then open them and meet with yours, telling me to love even our mango tree. Can not hear you down when I'm up. Is not your voice on the corners. The watchman is empty of books, yours or mine, or yours for me, or mine for you. On the floor there is only ground. No clothes tangled, confused, can not find. I miss your scent on the sheets, not your chest in my face.
I have, love, house full of absences. May prefer it. Yes, better than the dejases. Perhaps the order get to get used to them. May end up needing them. I regret if any called stupid. You might make me feel less lonely, join me. I can take care of the devotion with which you look after yourself.
Finally after all are yours, and yours is all I have.
But nothing moved from its place just you and that damn plane flying over the village. As the morning blackbirds, who accompany me when I'm way to work and settle in large poster tidy road. And look at all the same black as the West and bring me a certainty of my life. My life without you. From Monday to Sunday without you. From 1 to 28 without you.
Then I came home and I found them all, all waiting for your absences. Almost asking explanations. Why do not you take them? Now I do not know what to do with them. They fight to get my attention. How silly! As if you do not see one by one, parading in front of my nostalgia, going to my sadness. The thing is I do not know what to do with them. And I come to mind the verses of the poet could sort the colors, sizes ... I do not see your bare feet under the table when I sit down to eat. Not in my comings and goings of the room to the kitchen. My hips do not bump into your hands in the hallway or on stairs. Is not your smile in the mirror when I shower, behind the water droplets in the bulkhead. No love left me with eyes closed, then open them and meet with yours, telling me to love even our mango tree. Can not hear you down when I'm up. Is not your voice on the corners. The watchman is empty of books, yours or mine, or yours for me, or mine for you. On the floor there is only ground. No clothes tangled, confused, can not find. I miss your scent on the sheets, not your chest in my face.
I have, love, house full of absences. May prefer it. Yes, better than the dejases. Perhaps the order get to get used to them. May end up needing them. I regret if any called stupid. You might make me feel less lonely, join me. I can take care of the devotion with which you look after yourself.
Finally after all are yours, and yours is all I have.
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