Ik vroeg hem waar hij
heen wilde.
Nergens, hij was
gewoon onder
weg. Natte letters
wezen me erop
dat hij zo vlug mogelijk
verder wilde,
naar heuvels en
bochten. Als een hartslag
lijn, zonder piep. Ik
ben veroordeeld,
zei hij, tot leven en
jarenlang
heb ik het niet
begrepen. Wat,
vroeg ik net te laat.
I asked him where he wanted to go.
Nowhere, he was just
on his way. Wet letters
showed me that he wanted to go
on as fast as possible, to hills
and curves. Like a heartbeat
line, without beep. I'm sentenced,
he said, to life and for years
I have not understood. What,
I asked, just too late.
I asked him where he wanted to go.
Nowhere, he was just
on his way. Wet letters
showed me that he wanted to go
on as fast as possible, to hills
and curves. Like a heartbeat
line, without beep. I'm sentenced,
he said, to life and for years
I have not understood. What,
I asked, just too late.
Sofia y Dolores
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