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  • But birds sing outside and the sun shines, in spite of the gray color in the horizon, she knows that in some part of her, there's always a smile wanting to leave.

    Only a part of her soul accepts these heavy sensations. The other one is too light and floats on the surface, well away from troubles, always ready to play, to laugh in the face of fate, to amaze with imprudent hands the shadows that seek to dull the shine of her eyes.

    There is also a third part, serious and calm, too reasonable to be delivered either to the anguish or to the joke, and placidly keeps looking to turn this whirlwind of emotions, to find that it is time to regain control.

    It is told and understood that her hardened rational needs to work some things out with her exacerbated feelings, she said, in other times, in another reality, but with the same soul that still follows and confuses her.

    There is a vague yearning and something else that she could not or would not define. A brief sensation which wants to rise. A quietness much like the one that antecedes storms.

    No. It is not known which paths the winds home in on, but there are winds. And the distant impression that she risks losing control of herself.

    The weather forecast indicates possible sudden changes in temperatures northwest her chest, and artificial and unsuccessful attempts to cool them by the dictatorial government of her country. Typhoon... Hurricanes... Storms... Internal rebellions against any kind of control shall transform the arid region into a battlefield... Or not. A seaquake of green water might blow up on her, and ... She ... She'll be... peacefully... looking.

    Ministers of State will not allow the venomous intervention of the government in this region amazingly anarchist, necessarily different, inventively free. And the winds shall blow as strong as to allow the geography of the land abandoned by the reason.

    No. There are no secrets in that side of the world. Only desires badly revealed and an incredible ability to feel. But, ouch! It is that the feeling pinches at the throat and has not learned to speak yet. Young child, soft palate, how to pronounce the words she wants to say?

    The thought turns so strong that the mind will not let her see their outlines. The ideas they create, anxieties they feed ... She gets dizzy and she feels like she is going to fall down, when suddenly, the mind stops. And it is on the bottom of the green lake, violent like the sea, she rests.

    [The picture was taken in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil with a cellphone, I apologize for its bad quality, but I was actually trying to shoot a broad one]
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