I do not speak with the wind, he brings to me the words of those who still want to tell and be discovered.
I do not watch the sun, he is the light that surrounds me because I grew up but I still afraid of the dark.
I do not remember the smell of the air, the color of bread, the sound of thoughts, the cry of the monkey in my head.
It lives in the search for alternatives to lives that neither we strive to live.
What a waste.
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