If They Give You Ruled Paper, Write

To Live Is Nothing More Than To Come Here To Die, To Be What We Were Before Being Born, But With Apprenticeship, Experience, Knowledge Of Cause, And Perhaps With Will.

Sharp Nostalgia, Infinite And Terrible, For What I Already Possess.

I Am Not I. I Am This One Walking Beside Me Whom I Do Not See, Whom At Times I Manage To Visit, And Whom At Other Times I Forget; Who Remains Calm And Silent While I Talk, And Forgives, Gently, When I Hate, Who Walks Where I Am Not, Who Will Remain Standing When I Die.

I Unpetalled You, Like A Rose, To See Your Soul, And I Didn't See It. But Everything Around -horizons Of Land And Of Seas-, Everything, Out To The Infinite, Was Filled With A Fragrance, Enormous And Alive.

If They Give You Ruled Paper, Write The Other Way.