Le hablabas al silencio como la tormenta al aire, con esa tranquilidad del agua. Y antes, estuvimos en la ventana de las estaciones duras, en los silencios sueltos, en la ausencia del reposo. Tomaba sombra y cediendo, el mar se hizo insoportable. Ahora, éramos arena prisionera, duda, granos.
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