L'aigua pren el verd de les herbes. Com dels arbres que l'envolten. Al fons, el gris de les muntanyes envoltades de calitxa dónen pas al blanc del cel, que es va tornant negre, anunciant tempesta. Això és el que veig de la finsestra estant.
I could leave Minnesota.
Face all I have to face and leave Minnesota.
As the cat walks the sky turns grey. Darker.
Inversament proporcional al cap. It gets lighter. Not at a constant speed. But one day I'll reach the light at one time.
One day the blanket will disappear. We'll pass the courtain and the light on the stage will not blind us anymore.
"No ho deixis escapar, nena!" em deien.
La reacció va funcionar.
I could leave Minnesota if that would mean to do it with you.
I don't think, thoug, you'd do it with me.
So perhaps, one day, I'll have the stomach to leave Minnesota on my own.
Meanwhle I'll stay. In a little world made from little moments, filling all those huge spaces that will appear in the moment all the things we shared will blow with the wind.
Damn!!
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