The snail lives the way I like to live; he carries his own home with him. - Julio Cortázar

I touch your mouth, I touch the edge of your mouth with my finger, I am drawing it as if it were something my hand was sketching, as if for the first time your mouth opened a little, and all I have to do is close my eyes to erase it and start all over again, every time I can make the mouth I want appear, the mouth which my hand chooses and sketches on your face, and which by some chance that I do not seek to understand coincides exactly with your mouth which smiles beneath the one my hand is sketching on you.

Nada está perdido si se tiene el valor de proclamar que todo está perdido y hay que empezar de nuevo.

Andábamos sin buscarnos pero sabiendo que andábamos para encontrarnos.