Writing on Sadness

The strange thing is, I've never known someone sad for the rest of my life. I don't have a friend named sadness. Doesn't it have to be real?

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Are all things real and do all facts have tangible assets? I don't necessarily have to touch her nose, but at least if I could look her in the eyes, maybe I'd believe a little more.

I created him (God's creation). I'm ungratefully using the blessings that the script offers me, and is this going to work? Oh, my God, who knows, maybe I'm as selfish as you are? It was like the earth wasn't enough, and I started talking to God. You think he'il hear me?

Just like you, like me, like a duty, like a task, making love as quickly as possible and giving thanks and thanking, silence like an eagle's head, to add all the humanity and to destroy idols from stone, iron and soil?

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Don't you write that, see how he's putting people on the line? At the very least, we cannot give up our habit of expressing ourselves the most improbable way, or poetry, a virtue that is common in our society. Is it like seeing the voice, asking for the notes?

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