so I wait for you like a lonely house till you will see me again and live in me. Till then my windows ache.
Do tears not yet spilled wait in small lakes?
Sufre mas el que espera siempre que aquel que nunca espero a nadie? Does he who is always waiting suffer more than he who’s never waited for anyone?
You can say anything you want, yessir, but it's the words that sing, they soar and descend...I bow to them...I love them, I cling to them, I run them down, I bite into them, I melt them down...I love words so much...The unexpected ones...The ones I wait for greedily or stalk until, suddenly, they drop.
Oh to follow the road that leads away from everything, without anguish, death, winter waiting along it with their eyes open through the dew.