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6ª Carta: "Relaciones entre...
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ZATTLA -
Av Chani...
My sweet Eve,
As I drove...
My sweet Eve,
As I drove back from the market today, you humming in your car seat and our truck filled with powdered milk and rice, I saw the San Gabriel Mountains – really saw them for the first time. I’d taken that road before, but this was different. There they were beyond the windshield: their blue-green peaks still and silent, watching over the city, so close I felt like I could touch them. I pulled over just to look.
I know I will soon die. The plague is taking everyone who was given the vaccine. There are no more flights. There are no more trains. They've barricaded the roads outside of the town and now we all must wait. The phones and internet have long since gone out. The faucets are dry and cities are losing power, one by one. Soon the entire world will be dark.
But right now we are still alive. Perhaps more alive than we've ever been. You’re sleeping in the next room. From this chair I can hear the sounds of your music box – the one with the tiny ballerina – playing its last few tinkling notes.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
Mom
My sweet Eve,
As I drove back from the market today, you humming in your car seat and our truck filled with powdered milk and rice, I saw the San Gabriel Mountains – really saw them for the first time I’d taken that road before, but this was different There they were beyond the windshield: their blue-green peaks still and silent, watching over the city, so close I felt like I could touch them I pulled over just to look
I know I will soon die The plague is taking everyone who was given the vaccine There are no more flights There are no more trains They've barricaded the roads outside of the town and now we all must wait The phones and internet have long since gone out The faucets are dry and cities are losing power, one by one Soon the entire world will be dark
But right now we are still alive Perhaps more alive than we've ever been You’re sleeping in the next room From this chair I can hear the sounds of your music box – the one with the tiny ballerina – playing its last few tinkling notes
I love you, I love you, I love you
Mom
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