Pronto aterrizaré en la ciudad de los Beatles, de los "beans" para desayunar, de las extrañisimas cabinas rojas adoradas por los turistas, dónde no se pronuncia la "jota" ni la "erre" y dónde Mary Poppins vuela con su antiquísimo paraguas negro. [4 days]
I am nothing special; of this I am sure. I am a common (wo)man with common thoughts, and I've led a common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten, but I've loved another with all my heart and soul, and to me, this has always been enough.
The romantics would call this a love story, the cynics would call it a tragedy. In my mind it's a little bit of both, and no matter how you choose to view it in the end, it does not change the fact that it involves a great deal of my life and the path I've chosen to follow.