This is the city.
This is the hour and the moment.
She picks me up in her blue car
and we move to the old town.
It's a gray afternoon
filled with yellowish dreams,
as if they were old love letters
Just found in a drawer.
We parked very close to the cathedral;
we hold hands
and we move towards one of our favorite bars.
A few drops begin to fall.
Already in the bar, she asks for a cortado
and I a beer.
Today is Thursday;
some morose looking angels
they remain seated around us;
they barely talk to each other.
Meanwhile, she tells me about how her work has been,
and other things since they are part
of our common routine.
I reveal some projects
in the short term that I have in mind,
and I ask her what her opinion is,
Well, she has always interested me in her opinion.
It is almost night when we leave the premises.
The city is slowly sinking
in his forgetfulness of poppy
and the shadows,
which in reality are only the prelude
of a night full of aimless trains,
slowly build up on the whole.
Vague yellowish lights come on
and illuminate the old surrounding walls.
Behind us,
the morose looking angels
They head towards the highest part of the city.
Once there, and without saying a word,
They fly to the moon.