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Oblivion weaves its webs in time, they get lost
a few stretches of romance. I believed it permanent, constant
in my existence That lived history was not enough. The sector
of kisses and caresses has almost run out of memory.
They look more like waste, those who accompany me as escorts,
they are jealous custodians, precise invocation of your memory
that in fragments I review in this story. Maybe life is gone
most important trophy has failed to save carelessness.
With few exceptions, it doesn't seem fair to me, to accumulate in chunks
whatever was long ago, maybe our mirage, just
a vision that, over time, looked dusty and dry,
out of shape, in short, something that, after all, was almost nothing.
Andrea Saldaña Rivera 
https://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andrea_Salda%C3%B1a
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