The muse

THE MUSE

Today I need to talk to someone and since I don't know with whom, I can only write, write, write. Saturday is "The day of the book" and I don't think anyone will give me a book, so i'll have to give it to myself.

Today I do not see your eyes but I imagine them, I do not see your funny nose but I imagine it, today I do not see your ears but I know you have them. I draw you a book because I would like to draw you. In this day where there are only names and ghosts, I only see some light when I draw you. I do not know where to go, I do not know where I come from, I do not know where I am going, but there is something for sure, it is that the muse is for me something more than the object of desire or the source of inspiration. There are so many things that I would like to tell you. Beatrize, Nieves, where are you from? Do you think it would help to travel in the space-time to get what I lost one day? Does happiness exist? There is only one ray of electric light that illuminates the day on the sea of asphalt.