El se había arrancado del pecho el mecanismo que le permitía amar, no quería utilizarlo, era una máquina peligrosa, siempre le provocaba accidentes. Comenzó a andar, sin ayuda de la máquina. Todo iba bien, todo le daba igual, todo era gris, y empezó a amar ese color. Sus ojos comenzaron a ponerse transparentes, como los de un fantasma ,de los que salen en las pelis de Tarantino. Se sentía bien así, solo. Nadie podía hablarle de colores, su máquina le había hecho usarlos todos, y todos terminaban por destruirlo, mostraban una gran belleza, pero eran falsos, productos de la mezcla de otros colores, siempre terminaban destiñendo su alma. El gris siempre fué el mismo, se sentía seguro dentro de la frialdad de ese color. Hasta la noche en qué la vió. Era un color nuevo, una máquina nueva, sintió la necesidad de curiosear en sus ojos, era muy intenso el brillo, tanto que iluminaba el pálido gris que lo invadía, pero sin su máquina era imposible apreciarlo bien, algo tan perfectamente hermoso solo se puede apreciar bien con amor en los ojos. No demoró mucho en desempolvar su máquina y volverla a conectar al sistema, y se dijo a sí mismo: na, solo veré su alma y la vuelvo a desconectar.
Han pasado varios días, la máquina se descompuso, era demasiado para ella, ya no queda nada gris, el azul invadió su sistema como un virus troyano. Las dos almas se unieron, son un mismo sistema, un mismo color azul, un mismo abrazo. La ama, de una forma diferente, como si la máquina nunca hubiese hecho falta. Pero siente que si se va de sintonía, su sistema operativo se muere para siempre, y esto es peligroso. Y a el que le importa? Que más le da el tiempo que pueda vivir? El solo quiere estar tres minutos más envuelto en azul. La ama, y ahora odia el gris.
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[Eng]
He had torn out of his chest the mechanism that allowed him to love, he did not want to use it, it was a dangerous machine, it always caused accidents. He began to walk, without the help of the machine. Everything was fine, he didn't care, everything was gray, and he began to love that color. His eyes began to become transparent, like those of a ghost, like the ones in Tarantino's movies. He felt good like that, alone. Nobody could talk to him about colors, his machine had made him use them all, and they all ended up destroying him, they showed a great beauty, but they were false, products of the mixture of other colors, they always ended up fading his soul. Gray was always the same, he felt safe within the coldness of that color. Until the night he saw it. It was a new color, a new machine, he felt the need to look into its eyes, the brightness was very intense, so much so that it illuminated the pale gray that invaded him, but without his machine it was impossible to appreciate it well, something so perfectly beautiful can only be appreciated well with love in the eyes. It didn't take him long to dust off his machine and reconnect it to the system, and he said to himself: na, I'll just see his soul and disconnect it again.
Several days have passed, the machine broke down, it was too much for her, there is nothing gray left, the blue invaded her system like a Trojan virus. The two souls joined, they are the same system, the same color blue, the same embrace. He loves her, in a different way, as if the machine had never been needed. But he feels that if he goes out of tune, his operating system dies forever, and this is dangerous. And what does he care? What does he care how long he can live? He just wants to be three more minutes wrapped in blue. He loves her, and now he hates gray.
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