my hand in a gesture shook. No one ever leaves this vague area that never ends through and around us, surrounding us like a misty veil? My hand trembled a gesture, stands up and does not rise. She holds the fingertips this chalky and brittle material whose wear on the surface the world will draw some signs where their eyes will arise, and they will follow the course. One moment my hand up and not get up, time remains, shook his gesture, suspended and that this moment has no extension does not at all it is ∞. Do
cease we ever be the child that was?
Why, in the dust of this world friable, electric light of a neon hesitant, silhouetted against the gray wall of time, the child who has been chosen it suddenly reappear, here and now, without beware of anything, ignoring the least Suddenly he breaks the course of reasoning and the development of abstract ideas and mastered that for a moment before that, unfurled in silence? His manifest presence and clear emerges between the self and the world, shaky little figure, with no possibility of turning away from his sight glass. His concern is always waiting tangible and should make some gesture in his direction. I do not know how to take her hand.
So my hand, years later, stands up and does not rise.
As before, the face of insurmountable wall of ignorance, that the child was lifted a gentle hand to try and round in the gesture began to enter the world the required response (he did not know, how would he know?, his mind is full of dream and magic formulas, no adult ever could have understood that no one ever asked him). Then the child that was before the blackboard and chalk raised his hand, hoping that the signs only in a fabulous course, would be written on the vertical surface and opaque, it has nothing else to do than be guided by the chalk without antagonizing its movement.
Someone should guide his steps in the rubble ∞ of this world, and I do not feel capable of doing.
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