The mailer angel of Xixón and the agility of the missive

I love this town, it adopted me, I just have niceness to reciprocate
although sometimes I fail, and calumniate, human, and then I regret, and feel sad.

So when my tears get nervous, and I lose any hope, she is there in mind:
the mailer angel of Xixón and the agility of the missive
like the older sister I never had, or like a digital version of Saint Veronica, patron saint of photography and the speed .

Her automatonlike fingers dry the pain, while she forgives me for the rest, as my eyes get closed into the dreams of a world where I'm better.