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so forgotten and so firm.
Snail shells and the bride-doll,
is yours too - I mean, it is you.
Her dress, is the same one she
wouldn't take off on the day of the wed-
ding to no-one, when we found her
half asleep on the
dirty sidewalk of some street.
My skirts with their lace flounces
and the antique blouse I always
wore xxxxxxxxx paint
the absent portrait of
only one person. But the color of
your skin, of your eyes and your hair
change with the winds in Mex-
ico. The death of the old man [crossed out]
pained us so much that [crossed out]
we talked and spent that day together, [crossed out]
You too know that all
my eyes see, all
I touch with myself, from
any distance, is
Diego. The caress of
fabrics, the color of colors, the
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