I have tried to write a pair of ideas, but I have not been able to shape nothing concrete. It will be that I do not have inspiration some, or that I cannot unite two words satisfactorily. Itself tried to say something important, but the superfluous letters exceed. What I can tell you of tonight? Perhaps that is one night like any other. I believe that there is nothing outside the common thing, except because this one time I want to listen to your voice saying: Hello, that so. Yes, it would enchant to me that you made sound my telephone.

While I write I can imaginarte, there you lie seated reading without reason some to me, although I perhaps requested it to you or I urged to you to you did that it. Nevertheless, never I have tried that you read to me. For serte sincere, never I have waited for nothing of you and even so, you end up giving things me that I did not hope, that I did not ask but that it needed although it did not say it. I have been asking to me, How it is possible that you are thus? It is that it surprises your small-great details to me that always make the difference. I was reviewing the chapters of my life, does relatively just a short time, and always it has been labeled to me to be somebody such-and-such. But I do not know why reason now, I would like to know how you to me see. On the other hand, You would like to really know how I am? It interests to know to you which are my nieras? Or to know my firmness when one is seriousness? Of my part, I do not know much of you either, I believe that we are in the same situation.