Cuando llega la lluvia, te añoro bajito... Despacio... Regresa a mí, el vértigo de cerrar los ojos y presentirte. Soy impar en la nostalgia que me resguarda del frío... Impar en el letargo de las horas que me susurran quedamente que nunca te has ido.
Autor: © 2018 Inma J. Ferrero
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