THE SAND CITY
I am from
there, from the city of sand, a traveler in my heart is the sound of water. I
stumble in the seas of my life, only resting at every shore that sings
beautiful songs. I am just a memory that came to us from afar, telling us the
story of absence. The story of a city that still lives in dusty leaves, and
still looks strangely in the mirror. It always told me that aerosol is a
strange thing that gives us the illusion of reality, but when we go to sleep,
we see it clearly, and we face it face to face, and it tells us its cold
stories.
Don't you see
this city with its silver hands, holding our breath tight, creating a long line
of rocks that dream of faded roads? And this time, how pale and free it is,
flies away without return, it laughs mockingly at our bulging eyes. I am not very delusional, but I feel blind,
so you find me wandering around that city looking for every unique flower that
only the blind can see, and every time I find one, it says to me: Oh, Sand Man;
Sometimes to see clearly, you have to be blind. I hear her voice and see her
with my heart because I am a blind man.
