TRANSLATION NOTES: Please read some comments at the end of this post.
Here is a story picked up from the blogosphere, not suitable for technophobes, perhaps occupies more than Alex Ubago’s imagination.
Eyes that don’t see.
It was a gray afternoon, unworthy for a happy work trip to Montelimar, Nicaragua; the sea breeze warmly harbored skin salt granules that pixels as orthophoto on a fish brought from Santa Cruz in Holy Week. The background was complemented by waves’ noise against the cliff, remembering fishes’ rain (*) the same half story (**) stolen from Professor Luis Murillo in those strange parentheses in the Regional Minas de Oro Technical Institute’s staff
The beach desktop left in watermark with the company of a girl whose multilayer design was optimized to OGC standards in services which in those days required parsing to 64 bits.
Her eyes were deep and laughed hiding quick glances to avoid accuse her choice to intensive fall in love, that with butterflies in stomach in the morning and tears of pain in bones with insomnia; regardless of being hurt again. Her small lips adorned a fine face in three quarters of smile, unrecognizable to the working session where had tried to speak little and say a lot in the meantime with so many old-fashioned lawyers, sure of being be more geomatics than men of law. Her complexion was light or dark-haired, confused between the sun block and the pattern of not bronze geometries; natural curls (***) as not defining its divine originality by the recent pomp, the biweekly treatment in the beauty Salon or criminal resignation to salt soaking; they seemed to be polygonal smoothes with a topological sharpness.
The afternoon remained monochrome, sitting next to the beach we look on the distant horizon how fearless lightning were breaking ribs of gray clouds that built volumes and siennas of Renaissance paintings. Waves were coming every twenty-seven seconds in their white crowns of foamy brides and dropped into grannies’ bodice turns from Agua Blanca village, while the yellowish glow under the clouds went up in simple streaming and then went down in imagescript with concise strokes to the soul.
Just at that beach I had been a few years ago in the overwhelming decision that is only taken once in life and that, after eight years, two chicks’ presence fighting with the ‘learn with me’ and the amortized mortgage till the equivalence of the rent, simplify the composed integral to a linear equation which m is positive; as long as b has been warmly increased. Although in the previous scenarios they had suggested us trigonometric regressions ranging between heaven and hell, depending on the sample size and the instructor’s frustration.
Her feet played with fine sand, making a mosquitoes form in a child Thursday, impeccable enough for still life model. They were white, without nail enamel, timid almost like a scary crab that left the boundary to risk of being dislodged in the unconscious geocoding. Deeper, the music of La Casona sounded a song marred by thick breeze and lawyers blasphemous volume.
-Despite the fact that the moon does not shine tomorrow…
A lovely waist, clearly adjusted by a bathing orange flowers suit, two smooth legs which coyly covered with one hand while with the other often pointed out the horizon every time a lightning might be interesting; we find a lizard in the sky, an elephant and a rabbit who later became a primitive UML object connected by lightning to a three-dimensional Lemmen model.
-Hopefully, that your eyes indeed shine…
When you’re facing this distant gray horizon, in front of the thorns’ (****) curtain alternating San Pedro seeds, you feel in the clouds the hiss of eyes that see you, storms that feel you, hearts will surely miss you. The truth is that the few seconds that our lives take do not serve to analyze what would have happened if we had made different choices, and you are shocked as on the other side of the fence others envy what your momentary perception may not be optimistic.
Time was short, presentations were of fear and the philosophy of good humor adapted to gml for mobile, are not for being told here. I realized that you can only love once before the inevitable dualism of delivering the butterflies corner to the short term or maintain a relationship that is worth gold in the long.
-that tell me so many moments of passions…
The hot taste of baked potato was left in my throat, her four laughter at the vase of Pepito’s joke crashed as expected, I also burst two laughing before her first joke, and two forced to a second because I already knew it; neither of the jokes I remember, but the words which crown a friendship that lasts a life I can’t easily forget, although we are separated by two traverse zones and the necessary datum correction.
-There are so many things to tell…
I’ve never seen her again, just enjoy her @ friendship in emails which she alternates with her contributions to the beauty salon in one to five relationship, her scripts ignore the distance, and boast the complicity of a granita coffee (v) just around the corner. Somewhere possibly cries like us, suffers her attempt for the endless mastery that consumes her nice eyelashes, as mere mortals also. Her heart certainly has not changed, still awaiting that character who understands her geospatial indexing before contour of her cartography base, in this attempt possibly is willing to risk what has already suffered, but determined to love’s the only way she knows, in intense C#.
-that your light shines on forever because you deserve it…
One of the story paragraphs went into hiding last time I edited the html tags; when I tried to compensate for your perverse curiosity and add geospatial modeling dictionary, I realized that the file exceeded the number of characters of surfers’ patience.
Ha ha, as my friend dropped from Canary Islands says, jolin (v*) in our favor.
Via: Catrachos stories
(*) Lluvia de peces: This is an Honduran history where it was said that once upon a time fishes rained from heaven
(**) A media perra: The Word ‘perra’ is used in certain parts of Central America to refer to a story.
(***) colocho: this word comes from Nahuatl’s etymology and means curl, curly hair.
(****) guascanal: this Word comes from popular Honduran’s jargon and means thorn as the guascanal or iscanal is a legume that has too many thorns.
(v) granita de café: this is a dessert made with sugar and express coffee.
(v*) jolín: this is a Hispanic jargon is a fine way of saying Rays! Fuck! Dammit!