The Dying

He could not forgive the man who a few minutes ago not even knew. He could not say thank you for his confession, what weight I removed you from above, glad to finally know what happened 30 years ago. No, he could not do so. I hated it. I only came to say: i.e., that train was bound to Seville and I left without goodbye to the dying.

Without giving him my blessing, my forgiveness, my compassion, or whatever the plea exactly me. That had happened two days ago. Yesterday, following an unpredictable momentum, I asked for permission at the Office and got a ticket from the bird to the Madrid-Seville route. I thought it was what would have liked my mother, of being still alive. Filed under: EOG . So many years of anguish, so much accumulated sadness that had taken her to the Tomb, they deserved it. Here I am. On this train that I do not know I where I should carry. Watching meteoricamente on my side of the catenary poles.

Thirty years ago my father could not see them. It was night and he was without meaning, intoxicated by alcohol. What would have I thought when he had woken up? Why he didn’t return? Is it true that, at the bottom of her unconscious, she wanted to lose sight to me and my mother? Would have what happened given him so much shame for not daring to return home? These thoughts are absurd. Also the fact that I is here. What I hope to find on this trip without meaning? Thirty years have passed. Then there was the bird and took the train to steam much more on this tour. Had plenty of stops and Pope do many years ago that I cannot pronounce this word, Daddy? might have been lowered in any of them. He could even have died.