A 40 year-old man sits at the computer reading a letter from Helena, listening to an old song that’s not so old and suddenly he feels something odd, fragile and overwhelming rising inside him, the need to cry. He stifles this feeling. Squints. Gets a hold. Good song, he thinks.
“The roads of life are not what I expected, not what I believed, not what I had imagined. The roads of life are hard to tread, are are hard to walk, and I can’t find a way out”.
Extrañaba esta canción.
Siempre voy a tenerte que agradecer
que haya sido conmigo tan
y me hayas enseñado lo que es
bailar mientras rodamos por la
I hope that our few remaining friends give up on trying to save us,
I hope we come out with a fail-safe plot to piss off the dumb few that forgave us.
I hope the fences we mended fall down beneath their own weight,
And I hope we hang on past the last exit, I hope it’s already too late…