Curly Weaves Brampton

Dear Leo:

remember once I spoke of "Birthday Letters", that book of poems that Ted Hughes recovers moments, emotions, experiences of his life with Sylvia Plath, perhaps investigating the causes of sucidio of the writer, celebrating the shared moments, remembering and recalling. That book fascinated me since I first discovered some of his poems and I've eaten many times in the edition of Lumen.

someday I would be able to weave other birthday cards, another long series of poems in which you who shines, the main protagonist from the center stage. Maybe it can, when tame the pain and again when the words mean emotions and thoughts in check and not only anger and no runaway. Although I do not have the talent of Ted Hughes and results will not be, of course not as bright.

Today'd met 33 years. Today should have been together, on this perfect spring has landed on time in Santander, your health eating somewhere nice and prepared a small party in Trashville can, so you could release as always cute shirt or jersey yesterday I would have given Mayka and Miracles.

But it was not possible. You, the strong, able to stand without fear in the adventures and risks, which came from a difficult history and a difficult rooting, looking straight ahead and that became clear in the joy and in anger, the pain that ate not to disturb others, the survivor who was sure to overcome without problems that would later become just another test, you could not with cancer. Remember when you said, Regi, do not be sad, do not look like this: I'm going to heal, because I have many things to live and I want to stay alive? And I was, the soft, the clumsy, which breaks easily so I had to stay to see how difficult it is right if you heading, to see how unfair the world can easily collapse suddenly, and how much to walk again.

Contigo I found some of the most wonderful of my life. Had come to believe that love was not made for someone like me (and get angry when you said it and I reproach myself that I "throw down", that made you a fool and you know very well who you were and why), had come to resign myself to so many things that were like a hurricane of joy. Sleeping on your side, hugging, watching TV in you they find on the street and kiss you, try to surprise you, to pamper yourself, not let a day pass without saying "I love you." Learning to think in the plural, to think of "us", despite many years written in the key of "me", despite how difficult it was initially encompass our rhythms.

You'd be surprised how I have been sleeping so many dreams and so many commitments. I suppose that some projects had come before you, to fill gaps, others when they were with me, because I wanted you were proud of me, you felt that I could shine a little. And that despite being aware that when you walked into a room and smiled, and there was no more light. I have been falling in the hands of political adventure, I have been rotting Santander in the heart, so I think I need to get away and find another good away result, I have parked poetry now I would need both, with evidence of left uncorrected book to keep track of you in recent months in the same folder and at the same point.

have been months of friends, great and good friends, those to whom I once called "fairies" and I have not been allowed to fall. Between them the two women so special that you love me "gifts." And your sister Marilia, always pending. Both that and I promised her and your mother, Lorelei, visit Uruguay, and take the opportunity to walk alone through the streets of Rivera in which you were a child and how little you loved, for those of Montevideo that your steps when I felt I was lucky to meet you. Those of the Colonia del Sacramento you wanted to teach me how beautiful memory of the colonial era. For every wind drunk in the land they came back is like sharing a little time with you. Alone. As will be alone with you the draft of Italy, who was frustrated but you have to go.

Five months now, Leo, five months. And you here in the streets, in bars, in drawers, meals, songs, in hopes, not to leave emboscándote ever to continue to give voice to all the desire to live within us.

And I love you and love you and feeling orphaned every day, dying of cold in bed, careless and by lying so very much.