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| The Weather Station: belleza natural. |
Lo pillaste casi al vuelo. Era otros tiempos. Como si las alas se quebrasen, encontraste otros cielos lejanos donde planear. Aquella nube aún se acuerda de tu viento y mensaje. Belleza natural.
Javier Mateos
READ:
It started small – a simple thought.
That there was something wrong.
And if it's caught I could set it right,
or at least, I could try.
All through the night and down in your eyes,
I mined and mined and mined.
Given time, what I looked for I would find;
I was right, I was right, I was right.
And every word I overturned like a stone rolling easy.
And all I'd see hidden underneath only served to make me lonely.
Your trouble is like a lens through which the whole world bends,
and then you can't set it straight again.
Winter passed, and summer storms came and
flashed white in the evening.
You came in wet; you were laughing and grinning,
shook my shoulders, tried to get me smiling.
The wind had changed, and the rain was relentless,
washing everything down the street again.
My slow heart wanted only what was endless – to be helpless.
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