I don't identify them, any of them. A radiant vitality and sweaty kid, with a ball in his hands. Or a few freckles highlighting the face of a feeble body, posando en una cima. O la fotografía de una sonrisa perdida mientras roba un beso a una chica sorprendida.
The button of the collar that imprisons, I still feel that feeling before the ceremony, but the face is also different. And follows the succession. More faces anywhere, doing any thing.
A stain here, a new crease there, whenever I see them seem more strange.
It is a body, my body, flattening with age. How do I relate to it if you are constantly changing?. Recognize myself in the past I would, as I witnessed just memories of a distant person, even with a ring of disparate voice among the reminiscences. Stunned. The look is that dream chick. Que desgastada ya, transmits an attenuated force gaps, blurring what he believed to be an unchanging soul.
The essence is distorted to my regret, who were?what they think?what they loved? Is that still latent in the corners of my personality, diluting what day they were, disfiguring your holdings.
Now I'm just a blur, before the mirror of the years evoked.