Everyday I walk through the city that walks me
I walks through her and she walks through me
At the edge of the river-sea, river as broad as the sea
The clear air clears my mind
and my legs stride on while stories walk inside me
Walking, I write
At a stroll, words seek each other and find each other
and weave stories that later on I write by hand on paper.
Those pages are never the final ones
I cross out and crumple up
crumple and cross in search of the words that deserve to exist
fleeting words that yearn to outdo silence.
[Eduardo Galeano]
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