she was sick. it was a dream-sunny sunday. and i always run away from parties... but it was her birthday, it was a sunday, sunny day. and she was sick. it was a sunday... and i was there, finally.
i released the last suffering flowers from the corner magazine, turned on the radiohead song and kept driving slowly. dreamy sunny blue-yellow day. beautiful, just beautiful. and she was sick, still sick. maybe forever sick. maybe forever beautiful.
i arrived. stoped. smiled. the yard full of big yellow and red ballons. a soft hand behind my back, some teeth dancing in front of my eyes. my mouth shut. waiting for answers. with my arms around a world of flowers. and she was there, in the middle of the hall. of them all.
we stared. we touched. we huged after she’d embraced all my flowers with her own little heart. no words.
she kissed me. i kissed her.
and she died some weeks later.
smiling.
sunny day.
[trilha sonora: “go slowly”, “last flowers to the hospital” e “4-minute-warning”, radiohead]
