Twin Birthday Invitation Cards3rd Birthday

A story about a woman. A story less about a bridge.

Al dejar el puente atrás no sentí ni frío ni nostalgia.

Fueron cuarenta y dos pasos y dieciséis zancadas.

Después pasé hambre y eso si que me pareció conmovedor.

Se acentuaron mis cejas y se poblaron mis pestañas,

el polvo parecía granizo y nunca más supe qué hora era.

Pensé en buscar a una mujer porqué así es como se acontecen las mejores historias

y después compré una espada. I ran blindly grasping it in the middle of a forest of enzymes

and back to reality had killed a deer. I ate raw meat and then returned whole yet. Then appeared in an olive grove and got one of the fruits in the mouth, not eating, just to savor.

The bitter taste in my mouth became familiar and never wanted to go back to the bridge. I thought

keep walking and walked for more roads and more horizons, until one day I fancy the sea. When I reach the cliff in the air between me and the waves and inhaler as I'd like everything in my lungs, condensing the distance and who knows, maybe causing a bank, a tiny step, let me reach the sparkling green color.

Then I looked sand. When stepped on and let it hide in my fingers I felt important.

wished to benefit as a pet, such as pets. Tiny grains, pebbles all, you can join me and never leave me alone.

one day who was sitting on my grit complained that never bathed, who never threw into the sea. I got a terrible panic. You could lose, or break or get lost in the other or maybe drowning.

understood then that property is the largest of the chains and the love for things sweet sacrifice. So I let them go, not the chains that joined the let alone my lifetime.

And I was one myself. With sadness and resigned as I thought might go over this sea, which had taken over the desire of my arena. I thought about my bridge, forty-two steps and strides, and I suspected I was sixteen and still not be enough. Des ropes from the sky and heavy rocks, anchored to the seabed and brave to contain the waves.

I spent many days afoot. Unwittingly

I stopped being human and became a fable. I told my own stories and nudged me with Pygmalion. Then I let my flesh were stone, and my bones fossils. I let down my ideas and gave up my desire to water, with my stones.

I

arc column, I'm 1678 steps and 342 strides. Reached the view that I have broken away and saw the skyline. The water is long gone and the olive grew when sea sand was exiled. The wind crosses and odors as well. No one can imagine who I am. Everyone thinks I'm nothing, and they see me and touch me, and I step on and write me. And I hear and read, and step on me and I care.

am that, no wife and my rock, without being one thing I am.