I want to count a short story. It is about the brevity
of an idea that
it dies without ending up being real.
It is a common idea that he/she is born when we look unconscious the roof
of the
room and aglow, it is presented and it illuminates us the morning.
Then, we play with her among the walls of the time, and this you
it stops for moments, allowing that it matures.
And the idea runs and it runs after the yearned crystallization, because
it wants to have an end, and not alone an end. But the end is presented
when
the distraction allows that the immature idea flies that when not having
wings
firm still, it falls to where difficultly it will be some rescued day.
Then, the idea dozes, while waiting for a new leisure morning..
