It's a cold day and you arrive at home
You come in the afternoon sad on a Thursday.
The furniture, your dog, and millions of eyes
are, like always, waiting for your return,
you sense that nothing has changed.
The same thing awaits you, the dream has passed.
You gather your hair, so free in the afternoon,
Maybe because someone never saw it imprisoned
You sit and eat dinner, and all the blame
Weighs you down more than your strengths,
And your eyes struggle in this crazy afternoon
Until you are weak and cover your mouth.
When everything passes you think you are safe,
while, with your hours, you stir up ashes.
Inside you feel forbidden passions
You don't mind lying to feel happy,
Until a wish gets into your bed.
But, what are you thinking? --you cover your chest.
But you need to look good with everything
--everything that isn't good with yourself.
The anxiety is the price of being yourself:
Better to be happy like our parents
And make pity an eternal love.
Until, at last, winter covers you.