Just a short time ago, so little time that it was almost not true, to say life was to talk about what was going to happen, to say death It was, as the others say;
what had to happen
was a planet far from here,
as far away as that God
who created us and He left.
Life is seeing it
like a
shooting star.
Always arriving at the wrong time,
so late that, when it arrives, it is already
consumed,
life is a gaze fixed on the
a ray that moves from hatred to the
ash that remained when it burned
that moment that is already gone.
Only a memory is, in the end,
what we call living.
Life is watching it pass...
How is life measured
if a second and a second are the same century
of light,
if between night and day there is no more
slowness
than the distance from one tone to another
tone of blue;
br/>what a beautiful joke of chance
to be born from the immense darkness
to, instantly, return
to the darkness again.
life is watching it happen...

KORREKTUREN ÃœBERMITTELN