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light lit the lamp and opened the toolbox. Before me, a problem frequently addressed. There are repetitive, like this one, doomed to be solved again and again, but it should be. I usually reluctant to recurring tasks, I like automation, I like to work only once, either. But there are exceptions. There are occupations that I shall never tire, visions in which I always enjoy, feelings addictive. The years pass and things will always equal.
What does not make exceptions in my life is the selection of tools. Always the best for each task. If something is not effective, I do not want. Scalpel precision. Ferrari engine power. Resistance of diamond. I am not satisfied with less. If you can not choose the tools is a sign that do not really know your work.
learning and skills and, of course. Unable to function properly if your head does not know the buttons to press or if your fingers do not reach the appropriate springs. An hour later
tools returned to the box again, ready for the next job. Your body still writhing on a thin ring of sweat on the sheets. Smiling. And me. The pleasant feeling of a job well done.

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m² Toolbox drip

One square meter is one meter square, and may not be much further. A bland bidimensión, space vacuum. Hole, simply.
But there are square meters more important than others.
The square meter in which I am with my chair, my keyboard, my back encorbada by the weight on his shoulders.
The square meter you are, if not sleep, at which point you will be too small and your feet will overflow to escape to other worlds.
The doors, which enables the square meter of the rooms, and framing scenes that match our bodies and my hands are and the neighbors will hear.
The square meter isolated from all other square meters in the world that our fingers are sought.
The confessions, hugs and tears.
The reunion of arriving home. The
of farewells.
Those who have our house would be valid as though they contain gold.
Where I lock myself in my music.
you are on me. In
I'm behind you.
In which we do not but that contains your head on my chest, your placid smile, some of our clothes lying beside the bed, your nails, walking through my hair, your breath to recover, my eyes closed, the lamp is off, the phone . Our dreams.

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Infinity

The polish bottle was leaking. A few minutes than a vague gesture with the mop-increasingly inaccurate, poured its contents onto the ground before the glaze of Lola. His wrinkled hands no longer responded as before, and for some time that back had become an unwelcome and increasingly-riser-guest during their workday. "So many years cleaning floors," he said, "to make it worse and worse."
He stood up, not without difficulty, his makeshift seat on the third rung of the ladder at school. When approaching the hub diverted his eyes on the first class be. There, like a spring, his granddaughter, in the first row, threw the tenderest of kisses. Lola answered it with the same gesture and glassy eyes. So much life ahead ... On the board had a world map, and I explained where I was Miss Australia. As far as their little minds were not able to imagine the distance, but imagine themselves kangaroos, koalas and endless deserts. Lola
saw that image and passed the bucket.
spent long maintenance room, and his callow and impertinent charge when he called from down the hall. There would have cost him his old legs to reach his youthful stride, but the very geeky arrests did not move from his comfortable tile. He left that school
and crossing its gates rolled his eyes and breathed.
few hours after what was probably inhaling toxic fumes. In a canvas in front of him began to form the silhouette of a young blonde granddaughter playing with kangaroos. The phone rang. Probably the manager of the company stupid Cleaning that exploded over the years. With the assurance of one who has had time to learn how life works, resumed his trembling firm strokes. The smile of the girl would be the first to perfect, so beautiful that it is impossible to replicate. But with the moisture in the paint for a moment his own smile reflected in her granddaughter.
And then he was happy. A picture never hang in any museum, a place that has never been nor will be. But that will get the girl, at least for a moment, you feel the most special girl in the world, playing with kangaroos, koalas feeding and flying about animals that do not exist.
And while the bottle still leaking but it will not matter. Nobody but two idiots will disturb his infinite ring. The puzzled look irrelevant the while talking to the stupid with his latest model mobile. And their brains continue to melt, as the fresh oil heat, but they never reflect a smile.