All paths lead to the same goal: to convey to others what we are.

In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begins.

Like a jar you housed the infinite tenderness, and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar.

I move in the university of the waves.

When I got the chance I asked them a slew of questions. They offered to burn me; it was the only thing they knew.

Where were you then? Who else was there? Saying what? Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly when I am sad and feel you are far away?

And what has become of it, where is that onetime love? Now it is the grave of a bird, a drop of black quartz, a chunk of wood eroded by the rain.