The sky is a chance convoited by the winds. You, are an equation of remarkable numbers. From here, the acutest point of the delight to hear, I distinguish a trap of light locking up in salt from our tears, the secrecies of our Hearts.

I have a presentiment from the Abyss with each one of my steps, and yet I profit and wait, all, of the benefit of time.

Dancing on the romantic enthusiasm of a chivalrous attitude, from the end of my Heart I saw the foolish one:

The tragic dimension of Cervantes.

 

 

I am an ass, transferring onto his back, useless gifts, containing the formal exactitude of his insanity.