Time does not redeem absences, although today is seen as absolute. Nothing can be revived in the now. In murky brown, the eyes of who it was are blurred, it could have been and has been. I can no longer reabsorb the aroma of my private garden. Today the grass thickens the walls, more powerful and grey than its cement. I cannot attract you at this moment, nor in my dreams, even if a white, always, paints the streets of a constant and deciduous city. I am no longer who I was, the pain opened other sores and my dream of hope paints in renewed tones, my poetry. I went, but I'm not, and in my dreams, I remember who you were, but you left yesterday and no one's waiting for me today.