Tu recuerdo me mira desde la esquina donde solías acostarte
Con tu cara llena de curiosidad y de instantes que se repetían una y otra vez en tus ojos.
Y estabas, donde nadie más estuvo, donde nadie más llegó,
Callado, como siempre, desde ese punto donde te llegaba la temperatura perfecta
Y me veías como si dijeses: “Qué humana más pendeja”.
Pensaba en ti antes de dormir,
Al llegar a casa,
En la lejanía
Y cuando llovía;
Pensaba en tararearte canciones de Chaikovsi,
Sentir tu cabeza bajo mis dedos,
Leer en el sofá mientras tú te acomodabas debajo
Y, por fin, sentirme completa, querida;
Como si ningún otro ser vivo en la tierra fuese más importante,
Como si después de ti nadie más me amase.
Tú te quedaste, aunque quizá porque no entendías mi desastre
Y me escuchaste, aunque ni me hablases.
Soñaba contigo, en esos instantes donde mi cama parecía tragarme
Y a la soledad la mataste.
Claramente, fuiste feliz durante largos chances,
Pero el tiempo te ganó y un día ni me miraste;
Y yo me marché sin avisarte,
Creo que sí me extrañaste.
Yo pensaba en ti,
Me acordaba de ti,
Aunque ya no estaba sola
Y mi voz ya no te rozaba.
Me gustaría creer que tú en serio me amabas,
Que durante lo que fuimos mis manos te reconfortaban,
Pero no dejo de pensar que nunca debiste llegar;
Sino ser libre, correr por jardines.
Yo de egoísta que te construí una casita
Y te daba comida.
Ni siquiera conociste la arena,
Aunque escarbabas la piedra.
Ahora estás bajo tierra,
Te aplastan metros de oscuridad
Como la que me encierra en esta noche donde mi corazón se rompe;
Sobre tu superficie están las huellas de todos los que te aman y te esperan,
También flores, de esas que comías al correr por el porche,
De esas que escondías y de todos colores.
Flores, de las que te comiste luego de mis mal de amores,
De aquellos ir y venir que viste con honores.
Flores, las que te dejo en la tumba sobre la que dibujé corazones.
Ser tu humana, dueña y madre fue todo un privilegio, amado conejo.
Your memory looks at me from the corner where you used to lie down
With your face full of curiosity and instants that repeated over and over again in your eyes.
And you were, where no one else was, where no one else came,
Quiet, as always, from that spot where the perfect temperature reached you.
And you looked at me as if you were saying, "What an asshole of a human being."
I thought of you before I went to sleep,
When I got home,
In the distance
And when it rained;
I thought of humming Tchaikovsky's songs to you,
Feeling your head under my fingers,
Reading on the sofa while you settled under it
And, at last, feeling whole, dear;
As if no other living being on earth was more important,
As if after you no one else loved me.
You stayed, though perhaps because you didn't understand my disaster
And you listened to me, though you didn't even speak to me.
I dreamed of you, in those moments where my bed seemed to swallow me up
And you killed the loneliness.
Clearly, you were happy for long chances,
But time won you over and one day you didn't even look at me;
And I left without telling you,
I think you did miss me.
I was thinking of you,
I remembered you,
Although I was no longer alone
And my voice didn't touch you anymore.
I'd like to believe that you really loved me,
That during what we were my hands comforted you,
But I keep thinking that you should never have arrived;
But to be free, to run through gardens.
I was so selfish that I built you a little house
And gave you food.
You never even knew the sand,
Though you were digging in the stone.
Now you're underground,
You're crushed by meters of darkness
Like the one that locks me in this night where my heart breaks;
On your surface are the footprints of all those who love you and wait for you,
Also flowers, of those you ate when you ran along the porch,
Of those you hid and of all colors.
Flowers, of those you ate after my lovesickness,
Of those coming and going that you saw with honors.
Flowers, the ones I leave you on the grave on which I drew hearts.
To be your human, owner and mother was a privilege, beloved rabbit.
