"I keep your memory as a secret.
I keep your memory as you keep the ashes of a dead
: with ardent and hopelessly
impossible love."
The true distance is made of time. If you lived on the other side of the world, on a distant planet, in the confines of the universe, I would move heaven and earth, seas and outer space as necessary to find you, find (I know).
But how to find you if maybe you were not born yet, if you might be dead or never existed. Or, as you once told me, maybe I am not yet born to the life or death ... How
hold if a wall of wind, life, old photos, remembering and forgetting, roads, twists and turns, silence and words, decisions, destinations, stands among us as a mirror and envelops us anything, impossible , never? How
tell you everything you want to tell you if your time is so obviously foreign to me that I can not even see it?. How
desandaría time, how they break up hold (also know ...)
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