El Callejón de los Pecados

“But it is not always easy, and sometimes I cannot tell whether I remember, want or need you. I just look for any sign; a paved trace leading me to the profile of your voice after the latent absence of your skin. And the world remains in place; there are some ants going on their way under the sole, dawns to come without expecting to be photographed, and planets moving without thinking about the rotation axis. These are inverse paths to the void; passages with a certain magic, with the ghosts of ancient French soldiers and bandits who point their love poem rifles at the little women. And my feet just look for the wood. They fly over old and forgotten bullrings and cathedrals, oblivious to the sound of the silver and the taste of its touch. Between the bars of the old seguiriyas and saetas stolen from my memories. Never still, always resting, tangent to the curve of your name, on the sweetest side of the mirror.”

Horacio García

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