Y al principio fue la idea de Dios. Hoy es melancolía. Para quien no ama, dolor. Tal vez exista el favor de la duda, y pienses pensando lo que yo pienso en ti pensando. O es que sobre tu piel corre, como un granuja, el Tiempo, templo de adoración vacía, de infinitos ecos, que retumban y retumban al chocar con cada uno de los miles escalones, que todos recorremos en nuestra dispersa vida.
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