December 2009
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If You Forget Me - Neruda
I want you to know one thing. You know how this is: if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window, if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body of the log, everything carries me to you, as if everything that exists, aromas, light, metals, were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me. Well, now, if...
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cement block for a bed? low, wide, with the mattress in the centre and the sheets in a pile all over it
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