I am that clumsy human, always loving, loving, loving. And loving. And never leaving.

I love you more than my own skin.

I don't know how to write love letters.

Take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic.

You too know that all my eyes see, all I touch with myself, from any distance, is Diego. The caress of fabrics, the color of colors, the wires, the nerves, the pencils, the leaves, the dust, the cells, the war and the sun, everything experienced in the minutes of the non-clocks and the non-calendars and the empty non-glances, is him.

I paint flowers so they will not die.