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@splendid-sea
Vladimir Nabokov, from Letters to Véra

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Rural Ireland in the 1950s/60s by John Hinde
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The intimacy of being listened to.
find myself listening to music i loved years ago and i realize i still am her

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whitney houston was right. i wanna dance with somebody (who loves me).

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Escrito por los dos lados del Atlántico
(después de El Mar por Mario Benedetti)
Las cosas que amo son, en realidad,
Muy simples:
El color del mar
Sus aguas azures y inquietos después de la tormenta
Y la manera en que tus ojos lo reflejan.
Cómo suenan las olas cayendo
Entre piedras,
Las piedras de esta tierra lejana
Pintadas de obsidiana,
y acantilados (más antiguos que todo y aún más)
Que se levantan hacia el cielo
Oliendo de sal y ceniza.
Esta mañana me desperté
Detrás de la sombra
De un gran volcán.
Por la noche me acuesto con sus
Temblores en mi pecho
Pensando de dónde venía todo esto
Y de que habrá.
El mar me enseña cómo pasa el tiempo.
Sus mareas y sus olas abrazan a la arena
día tras día
Sin frenar para ninguna, sin pensar,
Sin darse cuenta de que
Sus aguas son los más sabios.
Los días son largos pero los años
Muy cortos.
Todo pasa, y pasará
Como humo
Escapando por la ventana.
Espero acordarme de todo
Amar entre las rayas del sol
Llevarme con el viento, y el viento solo
Descansar en las nubes
Y Encontrar el paz en el vientre del volcán.
Ornella Muti in Innamorato pazzo (1981).