I walked, the road was only mine
And the weight of the world beat on my flesh
The pain was only the shadow of what I am not
Yet still, I went

Life dragged me, with no questions, no answers
It was a thread in the wind, it was a nameless gesture
The strength I seek does not come from the hands
It comes from the abyss that dwells in the chest
It comes from the void that fills and consumes

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The wind blows through the palm trees
like someone passing by without a sound,
but leaves the trace of its presence
in the song of the birds.

The sun is already low,
and the earth, warm, breathes slowly.
Each step is a reminder
that time is a road that doesn't turn back.

Life is made of small gestures:
the worker’s embrace,
the child's smile,
the gaze of the woman who makes a home a...

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