2:57 PM A: have you ever died in ur dreams?
2:58 PM Me: yeah
two times at least
The bull does not know you, nor the fig tree,
nor the horses, nor the ants in your own house.
The child and the afternoon do not know you
because you have dead forever.
A: what happened after that?
Me: I was wide eyed dying on the street
I couldn't help dying
but I wanted to not die
The shoulder of the stone does not know you
nor the black silk, where you are shuttered.
Your silent memory does not know you
because you have died forever
A: you saw it in third person?
Me: no
2:59 PM I could feel it
like game over
like this is finally happening to me
A: wow that's cool!
Me: and dying can feel really flatly dead
The autumn will come with small white snails,
misty grapes and clustered hills,
but no one will look into your eyes
because you have died forever.
A:hmm...
I died last night
for the first time
Me: then?
A: didn't feel anything
Bomb blast
Because you have died for ever,
like all the dead of the earth,
like all the dead who are forgotten
in a heap of lifeless dogs.
Me: didn't you feel parts of you dangle and fly?
3:00 PM A: no
Me: or at least some ugly burns
A: I was too close to the blast
Me: Boom
Nobody knows you. No. But I sing of you.
For posterity I sing of your profile and grace.
Of the signal maturity of your understanding.
Of your appetite for death and the taste of its mouth.
Of the sadness of your once valiant gaiety.
A: yeah
Me: and you were dead
A: then I became a ghost, and started spying on people
anyways
It was on my mind, I thought no one died, since no1 knows how it feels
It will be a long time, if ever, before there is born
an Andalusian so true, so rich in adventure.
I sing of his elegance with words that groan,
and I remember a sad breeze through the olive trees.
(Absent soul- Federico Garcia Lorca)
