There is nothing that pretends to be sad and there are no incentives for crying. The seasons pass by without caring about the bereaved on the borders of the country. I hear nothing but a groan of hope. I see nothing but bleeding drowning my walls. Here everything feels suspicious. It is unbelievable to hear the news of the absent, of the other world, of the prosperity of living in abundance. The universe is about spaces that have no night and no need for coats, nothing revolves around you, your heart rests in the folds of forgotten books, then oblivion devours you, and from under its clutches a soul escapes without a direction, surrounded by loss, asking it, “Have you ever seen me before?”
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