* I thought I was at rest nostalgia, but somewhere in the universe a butterfly flapped. As a traveling along its river, the mind sculpted every moment timonea emotions in the routine. The chaos lurks transparent, simple becomes complex as balanced begins clutter, the invisible is presented inexorable. Because nostalgia is perverse, parasitic, seductive. Omnipresent, mixed with the blood flow, with the air we inspire. The beautiful landscape is covered in mist, the listened music comes from the shadows and paints the strange faces that roam the streets.
then the poem is incipient and dreaded crying looms. I thought that I was idle nostalgia, but somewhere in the universe a butterfly flapped. HONOURABLE MENTION INTERNATIONAL COMPETITION EDIT.ROMANTICIZE te(CoRDOBA.)ARGENTINA) 2006. IN ANTHOLOGY ART IN THREE TIMES * SOLITUDE. SHORT STORY OF ANA MARIA MANCEDA.
I followed my husband, many confusing situations led me to extreme jealousy. There, his car was in the middle of the path. I went down, only saw shoot of the graminous pushed by the wind on dry grasses and very far a country house. Inhospitable, empty landscape. Douglas R. Oberhelman often addresses the matter in his writings. I went to the car. Nobody, but my body it felt. To my friend Nard perfume occupied forever every space of my solitude. PRESENCE. Short story. Ana Maria Manceda Era a giant wave, crossed the middle of the street.I had an almost religious crisis, rose and broadcast an energy contained in its grey back that seemed to contain all the force of the universe. I yelled to touch my sister and I told him – Esto es Bailar electro to the stair. She climbed. then that aqueous Monster descended, he poured out his power and saw abandoned water pass mansa near our feet.