And so I woke up today wondering if she wanted music...
or a kiss?
Maybe nothing at all.
Btw, this sculpture is next to the Inglaterra Hotel, at the beginning of Galiano Boulevard.
Xu Hongfei is a renowned Chinese artist who has donated many of his works to different cities, especially Salamanca, in Spain, which welcomed him among its illustrious sons.
I wanted to know a little more about him and I surfed the Internet a bit. I found a lot of news related to his exhibitions in his native country, as well as in France, Australia, Italy, UK, Singapore, Turkey, USA, Germany, Austria, Peru, Colombia.... They all talk about his fascination with chubby women. So here I share with you also his Instagram profile.
Today I stopped to look at the City with resignation. I asked her, I always ask her things she doesn't answer.
Since her doors are closed to me, why don't you come and dedicate songs to her?
Maybe even the fish are lonely and can't find a way to say how much they'd like to get wet and jump happily in the foam of the days. Wait... this one looks a bit mechanical.
I prefer birds and those swallows.
Havana is one of those shy ladies who sometimes can't find a way to give you love. And you end up giving her everything, even your dreams. You settle in like a stowaway on her boat and without being noticed, you lull her to sleep and convince her to look at you from time to time without so much shyness.
So you like to feel watched. She starts to measure your every step and even invites you for a drink, where the writer left his deep mark.
This is a man I would have liked to talk to.
“By then I knew that everything good and bad left an emptiness when it stopped. But if it was bad, the emptiness filled up by itself. If it was good you could only fill it by finding something better.” ― Ernest Hemingway
And he wrote this too:
“People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself.”
We already know how he died. But let's continue with this lady... rebellious?
She and I used to walk, holding hands. On the sidewalks our smiles were drawn.
Some cannot understand our connection that overrides everything superfluous outside.
But Havana travels in all the convertible cars and the wind swirls her hair, and she has that deep, immense blue gaze that we can all enjoy very early in the morning on the Malecón and when the sun extinguishes its fires on the horizon.
I know... my eyes are dull. Maybe I'll go take a nap now.
The slowness of Sunday sometimes brings confusion, or maybe it's a couple of tough decisions that need to be made. I still stare in amazement at the suitcase, and I can't seem to move. Photos, memories, bottomless desires with which my Havana is dressed. What is left of me? What is in there that is still mine?
