The lonely writer

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-How much time  do you spend here? the wind demanded.

At the park, you mean? the lonely writer inquired.

-No, at that antique bench, the echo specify.

-Oh.. in this comfortable seat....I do not remember... I lost the time...

-That beautiful sight do not let me think about that.

-What is haunting your hours? the wind insist

-Blinding your eyes...the echo persist

-Wonderful stories.. I might say... of children turning lovers...of people finding themselves...

Of man  compromising in the society...of mistress on apparently white pearls...of scared nights...of dreams that people cannot held...

-Wonderful stories I might say... of hope despise of violence images,  of faith taking the first step even when you don't see the whole staircase.

In memory of Martin Luther King.

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