lunes, 17 de noviembre de 2014

La mirada de Matthew Mcconaughey

This morning I'm dead. It's not morning anymore but still I'm dead. It's been so long since I last slept almost nine hours all in a go that I could hardly remember it and I can't explain why then I feel dead. I'd like to go on sleeping for a while, for a long while, sleep until I come back to a state of no trouble, of no pain. But I guess that's just not possible. 
Right now, I can hear the voice of Mcconaughey, such a surrounding voice, reading out loud my words in a way I liked since the beginning. Magic will soon come to an end hopelessly, with no remedy. But still I know that each time I look at him here will be a slight troke remaining in such lovely, pure, light blue eyes, almost green, which, the other day, surprisingly reminded me all at once of Matthew Mcconaughey's eyes.