Inside me carry the long lived and what little I know. And sometimes I get the feeling that most caibo not here inside, so take out all my selves and can be several, my eyes or their, but the essence is one, and that Yes, does not change ever. Feel in small spaces and always on the lines crooked path explicitly. Can I be an explosion of colors and Almodovarianas, after a sigh, turning my world in a calm gray and gloomy. Because my world is anyway, same as everyone else: ambiguous and hopelessly unstable.