She doubted the reality of sea, steep roads, the trails of sand. Cataclysms of fire lived, traveled from his pillow until the burning skies.
She did not love it too, once learned, that the sea is gentle in his touch of salt, the roads are filled with deep scars, that in each path, the dew is a little more. Cataclysms that unstable rocks off and get lost in the abyss of the sky more cleaner.
She is now here, and that is enough ...
Alicante, April 2, 2011.
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