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Aquel que escribe, es el que habita;

el jardín que no marchita.

El que utiliza mi mano, para enviar un mensaje;

guiando el destino y ortogando una imagen.

In spurts and chunks they come, along with the urge to write them down. Some are more personal than others, some don’t even feel mine. Good ideas can vanish as swiftly as they arrive, blurring the line between the lateness of a night and the earliness of an impending morning.


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