Yesterday I thought about you. Yesterday I saw a star that made me remember you. Yesterday I vibre to think that you exist. Yesterday I looked at the horizon and thought a look that should be your eyes. That look is that speaks, which says all what your lips are not pronounced. It is in that look and the deep transparency of eyes that don’t lie, where you can read the passages in your soul. What more words for more reasons, what more consensus, for what give you twists and turns, what more covenants, if it is much easier than that, just look at that look. Wisdom and understanding flow through her inward and outward.

Your being trembles with excitement, joy invades your body, is given everything, nothing to save, overnight turned step, finally, tearing apart the darkness of a moonless night. Blessed be the light that fills your heart, because that light enlightens us all know read in your eyes. And however anyone who can’t read? Your being shivers, excitement and joy are escaping you between your fingers like water removed from the river by your hands, and the River took your desires, and your gaze became deep trying to keep focused on the retina the image of a few just vivid dreams. And again that look, sad, melancholic, but full of faith, how is it possible that they will not read? If you knew read, they would know it more than anyone was ever able to learn. They would know of your tenderness, your way of suffering remaining silent, the absence of revenge in your heart, in the understanding of your spirit, the wonder of a being out of the ordinary.

It is much easier to play the game forever, always just winning, although many times the awards have very little value, as in the Raffles. Do not stay away from the shore, touches the water, drink it, do not mind that you do not understand, they don’t want to read!, they are afraid of what they don’t understand and preferred a glass of wine. How is that they prefer a bath to the sea it possible? Sea not is can possess, it can contemplate, it can enjoy, it can understand, you can submerge in it, intoxicate you him, hug him, kiss him, loving him, but never possess it. To that look a tear escaped, and your look is confused with the sea. There will always be someone who can read in that look Alejandro Rutto Martinez is a writer and journalist italo-colombiano who also teaches in several universities. He is the author of four books on ethics and leadership and is contained in three anthologies of Colombian authors.