Es tema habitual en nuestra cultura amatoria la fe ciega en la existencia de una persona perfecta para cada uno de nosotros. Una especie de ideal romántico encarnado en una persona a quien sólo las circunstancias adversas han tenido a mal separar del amante eterno, ese que espera aferrado a la obstinada esperanza de encontrar el amor de su vida al levantar su mirada cualquier dí­a. Ese que no se rendirá conformándose con menos.

Bueno, quién sabe, quizás sea realmente así­. Pero también parece legí­timo presentir que, incluso en el hipotético caso de que alguien pueda ser realmente perfecto para otra persona, no ha de tratarse de una única persona, sino de multitud de personas capaces de ocupar ese puesto para mayor gloria y triunfo del amor, ¿verdad?

Y es que, más allá de la aureola fatalista que envuelve a la quimérica creencia de un único amor ideal, se hayan los caminos de la vida con sus infinitas posibilidades y respectivas consecuencias. Sean, pues, dichas posibilidades y consecuencias, los colores con los que enriquecer el lienzo de nuestras vidas.

Pero ya mejor me callo, porque la vida me ha enseñado que uno nunca sabe qué es correcto cuando se trata del milenario oficio de amar y porque, además, tenemos con nosotros a un par americanos dispuestos a ponerle voz y música a estos torpes pensamientos. Así­, y sin más preámbulos, os dejo con The Might Be Giants.

Disfrutad con esta genial y un tanto crí­ptica canción!!! 😉

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Make a hole with a gun perpendicular
To the name of this town in a desk-top globe
Exit wound in a foreign nation
Showing the home of the one this was written for

My apartment looks upside down from there
Water spirals the wrong way out the sink
And her voice is a backwards record
It’s like a whirlpool and it never ends

Ana Ng and I are getting old
And we still haven’t walked in the glow of each other’s majestic presence
Listen Ana hear my words
They’re the ones you would think I would say if there was a me for you

All alone at the ’64 World’s Fair
Eighty dolls yelling «Small girl after all»
Who was at the Dupont Pavilion?
Why was the bench still warm? Who had been there?

Or the time when the storm tangled up the wire
To the horn on the pole at the bus depot
And in the back of the edge of hearing
These are the words that the voice was repeating:

Ana Ng and I are getting old
And we still haven’t walked in the glow of each other’s majestic presence
Listen Ana hear my words
They’re the ones you would think I would say if there was a me for you

When I was driving once I saw this painted on a bridge:
«I don’t want the world, I just want your half»

They don’t need me here, and I know you’re there
Where the world goes by like the humid air
And it sticks like a broken record
Everything sticks like a broken record
Everything sticks until it goes away
And the truth is we don’t know anything

Ana Ng and I are getting old
And we still haven’t walked in the glow of each other’s majestic presence
Listen Ana hear my words
They’re the ones you would think I would say if there was a me for you

Ana Ng and I are getting old
And we still haven’t walked in the glow of each other’s majestic presence
Listen Ana hear my words
They’re the ones you would think I would say if there was a me for you

Ana Ng and I are getting old
And we still haven’t walked in the glow of each other’s majestic presence
Listen Ana hear my words
They’re the ones you would think I would say if there was a me for you