I cannot sit politely in my too-delicate wooden chair when the longing strains of Uno make a late appearance at the milonga. I thought Libertad Lamarque was happy and skipping before I spoke Spanish. But now, understanding means that the words are razors to me, who has been left behind. I cannot keep tears from gathering when she laments her lost love.
Uno está tan solo en su dolor...
Uno está tan ciego en su penar....
One is so alone in one's sadness/One is so blind in one's pain.
And I cannot rise from that quaking chair to make the solitary walk to the other side of the room and go to the one my heart cries for.
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