I have hope to go on living halfway. Halfway through disaster and a mind awake. Anchored in the future without streets, with no mirages, in this rarefied. Present that still remembers how, for example, yesterday, you dressed in tenderness, my dream of poetry. I have hope that my dreams of being, will not smear my cravings for tomorrow in grey. May your voice resurrect the memory of kisses, and may the time of silence tie me to the one who loves me. I have the hope of wanting to live halfway, that every morning I will be tormented and still, embrace the effort to move forward. Hope of living, as if that were enough.