Today I wanted to re-write the pages that made up the endless pieces of my loving thought. As a literary
crazed despot (or illuminated), took a pencil and change small details here and there, small gestures that happiness turned into a nightmare. Pluck pages, change their order. Instead of not write yes. Erase tears, pride, betrayal. Would change the time to make it coincide with the correct documents. Corrected thoughts, scratched jealousy, revenge turned into the pel. Invent happy endings. With sighs of happiness included. I would transform into a kind of agent-colored index rose from a staff, read and reread the sly.
And coming to an end, perhaps he could believe that love, after all, also deserves a habeas corpus.
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