I gave it all to you, even my breath

Diary wrote love poems, he died under tons of poems, which I never send him.

Jose Humberto Davila.

It was hidden at night, in the morning it was light and delirium, in reality something inexplicable in my existence.

Rene Davila.

The little bird was wandering, it flew and drank water from the ponds, but it always spent the night in the branch of its heart.

Murphy.

He could not hide that he loved her, the problem is that he could not conjugate the verb to love.

Rene Davila.

It was low profile on the day, but perfect storm at night.

Jose Humberto Davila.