I had reached the extreme,
where little did he care about everything,
and breathing was hard work,
who did not want to give up,
although for so many remedies,
I no longer had the remedy,
and felt in its bowels,
that she was getting smaller,
that portion of heaven,
that mortals inherit.
I used to put the words together,
that people lost on the street,
and with infinite patience,
he joined them carefully one by one,
until rearming the fragments,
of some other people's stories,
to relive them at midnight,
as if they were their own.
A stormy early morning,
He filled his bathtub with warm water,
and he overturned the words,
that for some inexplicable reason,
they had not been able to zinc,
with no other word;
I leave his robe aside,
and submerged in its micro sea,
lacking waves and horizon,
from which a timid vapor gave off,
minutes later before his eyes,
the waters began to dance,
and in the middle of a whirlpool,
A mermaid emerged smiling.
They tell that the little man,
nobody else saw him again,
walk in the mornings,
the streets looking for words,
apparently started,
in the deep blue,
next to her siren lace.
to finally tell his own story.
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