I have kept in my loving memory, on its perpetual side, your constant gaze. But yes. Although there are other protests. I put up the immense barrier of thick silence. And with my wounds I burn. Although unusual, they sleep. Absent, they sleep. Present, they sleep. Sometimes life sleeps as a pause, like a prolonged kiss, when the lips want to be the other's lips. And they forget the distance with which they were born. They want to be your lips beyond contradiction. Beautiful lips from where life is born, and love, and love, and from ties, constancy.