joi, 3 noiembrie 2011

The Letters

The Letters
(Leonard Cohen)

You never liked to get
The letters that I sent.
But now you've got the gist
Of what my letters meant.
You're reading them again,
The ones you didn't burn.
You press them to your lips,
My pages of concern.
I said there'd been a flood.
I said there's nothing left.
I hoped that you would come.
I gave you my address.
Your story was so long,
The plot was so intense,
It took you years to cross
The lines of self-defense.
The wounded forms appear:
The loss, the full extent;
And simple kindness here,
The solitude of strength.
You walk into my room.
You stand there at my desk,
Begin your letter to
The one who's coming next.

Unicat. Caseta din lemn decorata cu tehnici de decoupage (servetel de orez si hirtie de orez) si sablon, vopsita cu vopsea acrilica, baituita si lacuita pentru protectie.
Toate materialele folosite sint pe baza de apa (non-toxice).


Foto Ionut Trandafir

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