I Don’t Love You As If You

The Morning Is Full Of Storm In The Heart Of Summer. The Clouds Travel Like White Handkerchiefs Of Goodbye, The Wind, Travelling, Waving Them In Its Hands. The Numberless Heart Of The Wind Beating Above Our Loving Silence. Orchestral And Divine, Resounding Among The Trees Like A Language Full Of Wars And Songs.

It Was At That Age That Poetry Came In Search Of Me.

Cómo Se Acuerda Con Los Pájaros La Traducción De Sus Idiomas?

For Me Writing Is Like Breathing. I Could Not Live Without Breathing And I Could Not Live Without Writing.

In One Kiss, You'll Know All I Haven't Said.