I am realizing that since childhood I was weaving my destiny. I always returned to the nest from which primordial ideas are born, and today with them I am weaving the clothes that transport me to places. The places open doors until they become revolving doors. And there I remain stuck sometimes, for eternal moments, rotating on my same axis. My feet bring out fire and make holes in the earth. I sink until I cross the hardest pavement, which becomes soft with friction. I love when the earth kisses my feet. He had already written a poem to her.
