On the festival of the longest night of the year of bad luck, they announced their last 7 functions, A company delivered to the success and which fulfilled as many hearts as spectators had.


On a Sunday, after being cherished by the sun, they put together the last show.


Scene 1. Regardless how shy the moon was, made shine all the windows of such a mute terror house. Turquoise cottons garnished the walls of the cradle of that baby. The night took over the situation and dreams sodomized the crowd. 


Scene 2. The sun had won the battle against the Earth satellite, and it shined even not being happy, but it had a goal, to guide.  That good morning hug between the hero and the heroine, and that last one, was made of gum, at 45 degrees. The weirdness of such a gesture was as terrifying as a hummer breaking a heart made of glass. Have a good day.



Scene 3. Nobody would hold more than the journey of go and back to hug her again before the cold one. Sun wore black orange. The red lights and sirens run the streets of that street which up till then had seemed beautiful.  You don’t give up, but I ask you to hurt yourself if you are doing it for me. You hear and listen to me, and no matter how much I love you, you are taken from me. Forever. Despite how broken your leaving left me, I couldn’t be so selfish to ask you for an endless fight. 


The ones from a cat get consumed to join the count, with the same number, of whom yesteryear got erased by forgetfulness. Like breaking a mirror during the year whose figure incites to evil Friday, my bad luck repeats and the loop points to the palindrome year for the next big disaster. Inside, the damage empties me from within . And the two biggest days marked by consumerism will remind me that this is how it happened.

A whole ocean of salty water that from the soil raises to the sky and some flowers cut from the ground which you wish could take the same flight. Some roses of I love you, some daisies of I miss you, loads of green for all the thanks I owe you and because of you I am, and a white lace that unites all stems with a rope of forever. These are the ones of each year, the sky flowers, now during the summer and since 7 ago, in winter. 


Two paths join together. You open up the doors  to who needs it without knowing when or why will leave. The emancipation of a life is unpredictable. Earthquake of doubts but what is the point of living in constant suspense when we can enjoy the waiting. We walk blindly towards the cliff taking chameleon steps. Wouldn’t it be more beautiful to dance grope until the gravity kisses us good night? We love each other no matter until when. Can I have this dance?


Waterfalls of colours flood the streets on the twelve which is the last.

Water dresses up as a bride and lightly arrives in groups of millions, making contrast with the  amount of lights that flash from the inside of each house. It smells like freshly baked bread from the old factory, and the cold freezes up your breath, making you desire to get home with even more eagerness. 

Shared heat makes winter more bearable, The moon gets us together on top of a zebra who lies dormant at the same place where we sketch our dreams. And from there, eyes startled, you choose a color, blue, which dazzles you. Both caves fill up with stars and it is impossible to look away from such an event. 

But my innocence disconnects for a second, to cool down my feet and realise that Miss Destiny, already chose a color for you, yellow. I learnt a lot about the red color from you, and even though I never gave up with the green, and there is a color that will dress my heart in a mourning dress, I hate you yellow.


Seven of seven arrives and we finally deserve a break. The Marine Reinforcements are coming and it might be more convenient look from another prospective. A bed made of salmons accommodates us while we sun bath our faces. The dark side is still warm and the drums disconnected from the logic, to enjoy a melody of relief. A parenthesis that gets us isolated from the rest of the text, without knowing how much we have written already compared to the very little left after. The typewriter sounds like fear velocity. Fingers shake for every new letter they are about to type and the ink of what is written smears with every drop of human rain. It had never been that hard writing a last sentence. I had never imagined before that our story would have an ending so little Disney.


And just when the black color disappears, is when the dark takes the throne. A long and yellow velvet carpet preceded, and it was the guide during the time in which they say God created the earth, and we took the break together, under the sun of Toscane, your favourite. A racehorse of corridors turned into a Pegasus. And a heart that from toughening, has become the expensive rock.

We spent years learning that all pains are located somewhere but we never found the fountain where the most painful comes from. No cure even exists. Because there isn’t a bigger pain than crying from a broken diamond. 

They say that a star will shine on your flight. In exchange I will wear forever a hole in the drum zone, which now sounds muted.

The newbies from the Navy show up at the day of Goodbye and tattoo on my principles a fight till the end. 

An animal that teaches even the most evolved a life lesson. A me who is thankful to have crossed paths with you, Panther.


Pain is that one, once a dream, that makes you sleep like a child, but became a nightmare still capable to wake you up at night to make your eyes rain. Habit, is to get inside the house and look at the 12 and a half inches height or to shout those two syllables at everything on the floor when they are against the light. 

Love, is the one you feel for someone from whom you don’t expect anything in return, but who makes you so fulfilled, not expecting any more from you than you could give her. Torture is the only way out for the brave one who doesn’t want to give up but who can’t stop repenting.

It is difficult to endure a flight for which you were not ready. They burn inside, those words that were never the goodbye. It is hoarse that scream too big to come out from your mouth, trapped in a human prison with bars made of vocal chords. 

Memories of a soft toy that breathes, of a bespoke blanket for winter and a radio with the most organic tune in summer. Thanking is what we can learn from you, because from nothing you were so thankful and from too little you used to melt.

Extraordinary, is the one who makes you believe that there must be a heaven even without being religious. But there must be one, because you did deserve it.


The sun accompanies us all, and works like a Celestine for friends and lovers. The paths are visible to be followed, and doors and indos are open to be used. The heat keep us apart but the looks preserve us from an unbearable distance. Is like if senses were vampires and the others snails who don’t wait for thunders. But soon that night shows up. A 75w Moon without the power of guiding people. A world that despite being overpopulated, makes us feel alone. Lovers who share their beds but not even the warm of their bodies together is capable of pleasing them. Hope for that dream to animate the dark, a wish for you to choose where you wanna spend all night long. Tears for the sleeping cover your eyes, and I only ask you to not wait awake for me. 

Each of my thoughts will be a soldier who will fight against your nightmares and every flower that I give away to you will be that lap that made you sleep feeling nothing bad could ever happen to you while there. My cries will sound from time to time to remind you how much I can miss you, and although that dream teared us apart forever, I will never forget you neither will fear closing up my eyes. Good night racehorse of corridors.