Snippets of stories, missing my home country, and more
It feels like winter already.
The trees outside my window
stand naked and damp.
Almost like a scene from
a black-and-white picture.
The tint always gray
as the clouds darken the sky.
On a pile of books
lies Milo the cat,
tender and pensive.
His pupils follow my every moment
as I write, paint, and ponder.
My winter days recorded
in his big, round eyes.
I miss lighter clothes
and the sun on my skin,
squinting to shelter my eyes
as I step outside into a bright, lively city.
I reminisce. I'm missing home.
Once every two years,
I go back home.
Across the continent,
I reach summer's new residence.
The ocean awaits on the opposite side.
It goes by a different name.
Atlantic they say.
The streets are full of life.
The temperatures are high.
But it's not the sun that warms the air,
it's the words it carries.
Because everyone sounds like me
and I can't get enough of it.
A snippet of my mood these days as the year comes to its end.
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Hola Paula…despues de leer ,me quedo una palabra ..decis..gracias por acompañarme. …acompañar ahí esta la clave, sentirse acompañado seguramente despúes de respirar es lo más importante ..acompañar es amar.