There are places that, in synthesis, exemplify everything that happens on the rest of the earth. Towns, corners, markets, avenues, neighborhoods. A tiny sample can be multiplied until the last square meter is covered, finding what we are, what we are searching for, and of course, what we have.
Excess, ambition, hunger, hope, misery, colors, mixed feelings, noise, longings, power, tears, laughter, dirt floors, mosaics, lights; dreaming with violins, stethoscopes, and cameras. Life with sacrifice test, loan or pawn, and the little tear that falls to the lip.
Flowers, sounds, and tides; wars, resistance, pain, and growth.
A constant promise of immortality, hidden behind every newspaper, every story, every meaningful link; immortality after each child, photo, portrait, composition, book.
To the blooming fields; Until the last one is finished (and I think it will not happen), they will continue to be perpetual, and even if it is for a postcard, I hope we can see them sometime.
Who goes to the longing to be free, and endless applause for recognizing that in this life, it is not in good taste to live in captivity.
To the lovers, who decide not to be in love with someone who does not enjoy being in love. If you are in love, and it is not reciprocal, leaving makes you immortal, and that it is, that is much better.
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