The Mild Voice of Your Letter

THE VOICE OF YOUR LETTER LOW "There goes my letter warm

Dove forged in fire,

with folded wings

and direction in the middle. "

Miguel Hernandez.

FEELING FOR SPRING IN YOUR MEMORY

The river is white under the moon and black in the shade. And you're sleeping? Do you dream? What color are your dreams? It's been nearly six months since we took that walk by the seashore. I keep thinking of you, sleep with your face, your smile, your sweet voice and violent at the same time.

All I can tell has a term. In fact, there is no more infinite than the sky, because of its stars, and the sea, its water droplets. Everything else is small. So when I speak of my love for you, always have to compare with the sky or the sea. Do not be afraid to forget you! You know that does not forget a woman like you.

You say in your letter, which I analyze too much. But I think that I do not know enough. I have never lied instinctively loved you, and I propose is not like: it happened because it had to happen.

Go ahead, laugh! Today I'm glad I do not know why. But do not tell me it's the money that has prevented me from being happy, that if he had found a job I would be better. As if having a job enough to be happy in this world! All this and I've been told a lot of people, so do not want to hear from your lips: the spoils, are not made for that. Do not think I'm lazy and spend my days staring at the ceiling, I am by nature active and laborious. I write a lot and read more, much more.

To remember everything I enjoyed walking beside you on the seashore as the Arabs do that one day a year turn to Granada and cry for the beautiful land they lost. Do not we always cling to our past by very recent it is? Our appetite for life, ruminate sensations of the past, dream the future holds for us.

Love, like everything else is just a way of seeing and feeling. What do you want me to do? I love my way. But I love you, do not hesitate. Chides me for everything I write, for all my ideas, even by those who have nothing to do with us. But say what you like, I like your writing. Write anything. I want you to tell me everything, you see everything and give me many details. I need the slight sound of your letter.

It's cold, almost all the trees of this land are naked, my mind escapes and flies chilly to you to feel the spring in your memory. I think that love should be stronger than all that absence, that the disgrace and oblivion.

I see you happy. When I walk silently for hours on the sand of the beach and hear the shells breaking under my feet and the rhythmic sound of the sea, your image often comes to my mind, follow me and with me, I see your face again, I wonder what 're doing or thinking or dreaming ... And then you my thoughts back to me and I get sadder, darker, I get excited ... and I add to myself: maybe she just reread those verses both liked, "I've heard there's a flower, / the most humble of all: / I would give flower, / flower called forget me not."

Francisco Arias Solis

A street against forgetting and against Garzon's trial.

Democrats with Judge Baltasar Garzon

Association for democratic justice and a dignified judiciary.

Internet Users for Peace and Freedom and Free Forum.

URL: http://www.internautasporlapaz.org