Soft music comes through the door of the tavern and seems to disperse scent signals to party early at night cravings. Tonight I sense a barefoot feet when I return to this pub in my neighborhood again, and again I take the table that I like. It is the only unoccupied. I watch the clock and see that break and ten at night and hope that at eleven or twelve, I open your eyes, without nostalgia. Two blonde women
occupying a table in front of me, remind me a little that other blond hair. If not except that in the hair color patches of life was remembered and snails would say the same, but no. The conversation of my two neighbors comes to my table wearing a fala ill will (likely) geometric, ancestral, spread the proximity of my country through my mind and spread, too, the memory of the blood of my relatives. I did not notice, as always, if someone or myself, listening attentively to the conversation of my neighbors, but I remember they were talking quietly and I held my face with the intention of catching a later story to tell you guys, but no, not tonight, because I care more that I longed for the arrival of eleven, or twelve.
Never mind the people around when it comes time one would expect, it seems that one is alone in this place and only try to hoard words for that moment of midnight, to keep everything as a precious secret. Nobody like me, at twelve, you want a lots of music that sounds in the tavern undress me again youth, adolescence. Soft music comes and spreads its aroma a sign, I said at first, now, after a couple of hours I noticed signs that something as tangible as a face that comes close is what makes me fit, more if possible, to keep my back seat, because that, more affluent, I can not escape her laugh and I will have no hurry to also accommodate my hair after taking off my beret ... or see a white cat by the front wall of the school in a notebook blur poems, some faults.
entered and in all the world was certain that the language was going to grow, and after the language course, the rebuilding of a bridge that will be done with laughter. Came as a promise to breathe into a white coat, weaned, for any mother. Came as a light parade with his scarf set and renewed the shiver of a kiss, or the feel of a dream. If I close it, Xana, his eyes at that moment, would be kept with your target all the grooves that wind their hands warm smiles crave sugar. But not, not close their eyes to rotate their arms to embrace that position, and hopes and expects a certain feminine grace walk by the piece of glass a spark caught the foam of a laugh at any beach. Seemed to be counting table to table, with these comings and goings of short steps, that ambition is always carried at half mast and love, or kindness, a smile that fits the number one heart and crucifying of light, moon. Yes, I think I'll get up and leave written napkins on the table. Acunaré his arms trembling words in my mind and let her hand away from my mouth, so it calms my voice to swallow some find another spring or what is the same ... the peace of his kiss.
My mother told me one day when air opens his veins the subtle aromas tend to get light spring rain at night and ride out all Xanas, and that is why, to return the next morning all the birds.
between morning and night, morning and night and I would advise Ladies and Gentlemen, that you enjoy your time and if you ever go near my neighborhood tavern feel free to enter and to know who runs what, someone who is simply a piece of heart with eyes, ah, and music.
Xándalu
