miércoles, 28 de septiembre de 2011


Mother told me that I was special, at an age when I didn’t know the meaning of that word. “Special to me” she said, not one but a lot of times. When I get older, then I look up to that word that was floating in my brain, and I see it in a dictionary, and then I heard it on a movie; then in my friends, then in teachers, then in my job, in the people in the streets. Then in myself, like a sound bouncing inside me. Every single time was a different meaning. But I know now what my mom meant. I’m not human.

3 comentarios:

Victoria Mira dijo...

Wow, increíble. Me gusta como escribes.

Mono Vergara dijo...

Gracias Victoria. Espero que te hagas seguidora de mi blog. Prometo postear mas cosas.

Anónimo dijo...

You are special to me,
like those beautiful eyes of urs.