deep in red chair. coffee now cold. the sound of the trumpet from the CD that brought me sara. the light of two lamps. out of the darkness deepens and the small voice inside and afraid of my grandmother sits across and weighs. I feel like a little girl who holds the tears in her throat. breathe deeply and meanwhile and the so-called 'over and you only hear the water moving in the radiator behind the chair. and now I 'came to mind the bath, I could go on and get me a hot bath, put the lavender as I like and wait for them. wait for it to melt the lump in my throat, waiting for the strange melancholy balance is broken and something happens. I could cry or eat. I slam things on the floor if I could get angry. I may or folding laundry. but I do not want to do anything. just breathe deeply and take down the tears and that they are stronger than my breath and come up to my eyes then I close my eyes and I fall asleep. I want you to rest and I would stop saying that all the useless things, unnecessary words. should teach people silent.
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