Sentada en ese tren, en el vagón de la complicidad, ibas solitaria hacia la lucidez. A no ser bruma. A andar por los surcos de la tierra con los pies de la noche. Como de costumbre, vecina de la mirada. Decidida obsesión a mantener la vida. Empujabas al futuro incierto desbordado de posibles hacia el fin de la duda. Ahora, contigo se dilatan amplias las ventanas por donde apreciamos los caminos que se alejan.
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