Waiting for

There is no worthy expert, nor a scientist of honorific diplomas who can explain why, regardless of the month, when 21st coincides with a Sunday, the sky is dyed a blood red.

Nobody knows the answer, but I do.

It's you, Catherine. Since death stole you from my side, that fateful morning of August 21, everything changed. It's as if the clouds had stolen the precious blood that kept you alive, and in their horrible action, it took away my happiness.

Now all 21 I look up at the sky, cursing the world, stretching your hands trying to reach you, trying to steal a little of your blood from the clouds.

It's useless, right? you will never go back What is the use of fighting when the world crumbles around me? It seems that the only thing that keeps me alive is to look for you every August 21 in that sky, trying to mix your blood with mine, waiting for the same red clouds steal my life.