Infancy

Children games in toy shoes , becoming cold with every trodden to the cold earth . Wretched times, happy times. The Sun was shining beautifully behind of selfish clouds, they were crying for being back to the sky, to the purity of the souls that have gone away. Nothing prevents that the things change, the people are passenger and the memories become blurs in the wind and in the time, white coctel dresses in chrismas, purple knees of falls in games with cousins that still being. The lies were not penetrating my innocent reality, stupid fights about :"Of whom it is the dog of felt?" , my delicate infamy. The candies that my grandmother was giving ... they must be already under land and beautiful recollections. Her wrinkled and soft hands touching my face, saying goodbye , for last time ...