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La lluvia creará equilibrio



Se le derrumbaba la casa sobre la cabeza, sobre los hombros, se le escapaban las palabras de la boca y las manos de sus manos, temblaba el suelo bajo sus pies. El cielo era negro, azul, rojo con cicatrices brillantes que destellaban en sus ojitos que se derramaban sobre las pecas en sus mejillas.
El silencio era absoluto, exceptuando su respiración, que se perdía apenas más allá de su nariz colorada, y cada tanto el cielo, muy allá arriba, se abría en dos y rugía sobre ella.
Hasta que empezó a gotear, a lloviznar, a llover, a arreciar de arriba para abajo, desde las nubes negras hasta lo mojado de sus zapatos. Y se llenó el aire de agua, y se llenó el silencio con el ruido de caer.
Y entonces le dijo «sh», una mano en su cabecita húmeda y despeinada, «la lluvia creará equilibrio».

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