Pablo Esteban Wallerstein Manonellas.
17 de julio de 1986
a
28 de diciembre de 2001.
Pablo amigo, el mundo es más pobre sin ti. Te extraño.
lunes, 21 de diciembre de 2009
sin darnos cuenta
Hoy, hace 8 años, esperando la pascua: sin darte cuenta, la última semana. Ansioso del nuevo play-station, con ganas de ver Amores de Mercado, rechazando con dignidad que te rapan la cabeza. Sólo te queda una semana. ¿Cuántas me quedan? ¿Importa hacer el cálculo?
He shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old. Age shall not weary him nor the years condemn.
Death is smaller than I thought
Pablo died some years ago. I loved him very much. When he died my love for him Did not vanish or fade away. It stayed just about the same, Only a sadder colour. And I can feel his love For me, Same as it ever was.
Nowadays in good times or bad, I sometimes ask Pablo To walk besides me Or to sit with me So we can talk together Or be silent.
He always comes to me. It's very simple-- Nothing to do with spiritualism Or religion or mumbo-jumbo.
It is imaginary. It is real. It is love.
adaption of a poem by Adrian Mitchell
You were always on my mind
Maybe I didn't treat you Quite as good as I should have. Maybe I didn't love you Quite as often as I could have. Little things I should have Said and done. I just never took the time. You were always on my mind.
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