An unfinished book

Further the memory remembers. In an unfinished book the words of a text without hope Sleep. Write with the wavering light of a candle in the one evening half-light. Carved on paper with black ink. The removed the structure from letters of chopped sentences are the mirror. Of a sad and disabled heart liming itself in despair. Fear, not to know fear. Concern disabled more nothing to see. Were right of these words of love thrown through the mincer. Of a passion arriving at the end of its history. In a library or some share this unfinished book is on standby goodwill. Of a reader ready to doubt or to believe. That these letters can still move. And better than an old black book. They reflect a heart which does not have anything illusory. Because in them a spirit dozes in which one can still perceive. The sharp blood of an infinite love ready to be moved again.