intense moments make a life. In fact, all that is severe makes a kind of impression on us. No matter if it is a traumatic moment, a wild dust, extreme shame, or a slice of pizza when you come back at dawn. Unlike the bad, the pleasant memories are more affordable. I think, are more accessible. It will be a matter of safeguarding our health. Reflex, I guess.
Podemos cerrar los ojos y traer un buen recuerdo a nosotros. Enchastrarnos por completo de melancolía o de tristeza. Reirse, llorar y hasta relamerse pensando en un beso que fue. Después, abriendo los ojos, limpiamos todo el quilombo de sensaciones. De cara a la realidad otra vez, largamos un provechito por el recuerdo que acabamos de degustar. Es inevitable, poner cara de boludo feliz.
Algunos no surgen tan fácil, hay que ayudarlos con alguna imagen, alguna percepción. Un aroma por ejemplo. Hasta hace poco, tenía guardado un frasco vació de un perfume que usaba en mis 15 años. Es increíble lo que sucedía cuando lo destapaba. La ya pobre fragancia, podía remontarme directamente a esa época. Un perfume convertido Time Machine, it was fantastic. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, well, a flavor has more detail than a thousand pictures. Then he threw. He had lost all trace of odor, and I looked like a sick sucking a memory hidden in a jar. The vessel, empty, do not hit me.
It happens also when I remember something very embarrassing air shot a word that is completely understandable. Or make a gesture rather ridiculous. As tongue and moving his head sideways as fast as possible. I have absolutely no fucking idea what that means. From what I am sure of is to clean the saliva left on my face, makes me instantly forget that shame. Absurd my defense mechanism. But effective nonetheless. Cash
as saying that the bad memories I'm not going to talk. Today I have a good day. I have a thousand pictures on my nose, and a jar of perfume in the shape of your body. The memory of your skin made me a glove, and I can not touch you. We
we ate, we, smoke, and we ate again. Strange ritual that marked the way to your room.
always wanted to see your skin. Your back was fantastic. A starry sky just moles. It was dark but I could see well. I could see that you also looked at. Lashes almost touching, but I know you looked. Yes, I felt good to be fantastic. I also was set, and when I awoke, I realized your name was not skin. But the touch I turned and saw your back again. I came into question again.
In the mouth had the taste of the parts that you could try. "I want to invite me to dinner again," I shouted. Do not you hear me, sleeping, perfect. I was dreaming, awake.
was covered to the waist, and the sheets remained exactly how all that goes to the balls of your feet. Decreed then, mysteriously, your sheets were transparent.
Now it was day and the window was slightly open. Light and noise came from an army of people going to work. Tapaste you all.
I did not mind, your sheets are transparent.
And your name ... your name is Skin. And if I happen to forget again, I have a jar filled with your perfume on my pillow.
I think I'd settle for knowing that you're only good memories, how intense brand. But even better is knowing that I'll see again.
