May 17, six in the morning, after a couple of beers I have passed out, rather than falling asleep, alcohol allows me to fall asleep a little every day, the headache has returned and I have had to get up to urinate. "Like any person of sixty years," I tell myself and go back to bed hoping to sleep a little more, but nothing. I didn't make me fall asleep even by counting sheep or remembering the freckles on your face.
At last I decide that it is better to get up and walk a little, I have taken the sandals that you gave me the day you left and I am about to see the moon next to the pier, but for my misfortune it is more cloudy than usual, the mist is so thick that the memories that remain of you saturate my head so as not to leave room for new ideas, and everything that surrounds me is you and yet you are not with me ...
I feel like I am falling but fortunately I am sitting, it seems that after all I have dozed a bit, suddenly I see your beloved face approaching me to give me a kiss, I close my eyes and I only feel the cold wind that hits my face.
Tomorrow maybe luck will change and then you come for my beloved death.