Youth is an exile without hesitation
Love is a self-justifying redemption
Those messy, sharp, cruel, dilapidated, obscure, engraved in the deepest part of time
Those that are complete, soft, beautiful, plump, public, and rooted in the long river of time
When all the desolation and splendor have come to an end
Time flies in silence, turning the beloved into a stranger
Sadness and joy intertwined, suddenly a dream. . . . .