Who still say with the lips, which push me cry? Is not
clear message to me, and I procrastinate ... My petrous already turned white. Everything is covered by the warm flames of forgotten.
There, far back in time, the remaining steps of my friends. Their steps still walk on the land that they loves, filled with desire for adventure and with the hopes of youth, which only a young age of their twenty years can decide to take.
There are also the brothers and the sisters of Hope that they live a fulfilling its little role for all together to see how their dreams fly and turn into reality.
But not all understand this dream!
So, we go step by step, we trying to forget, all things that set us pull back and prevent us to approach the target. Somebody understood the truth, others not, but we have a deep conviction, and beliefs respect that thing.
She accompanied us search and discovery of all this, which we dream and we wish for themselves and for them.
I know that over many decades, we waiting to see the birth of this child, this creation-work ... But I enjoy it, contemplate how it shines with its reflected light. I have so desire to see it! We shared numerous nights you for it, converse with my friend, when the pleasure of a campfire - it embrace our company. Around us were gathered all those who loved us and appreciated us for the things, that we shared with them, even the few that we were learned in the classroom, which we call a university. From this school of the true life we went out to see the world without black magnifying glass which can to prevent us to appreciate the life in all its aspects. So my little child, the fruit of my pen is a sign of respect to Camille or Camille the Second, or any other name that he was known to someone. He is a teacher who can not be forgotten in anonymous lists of poor cemeteries. So I say him: "Camille, friend of mine,
this is my modest tribute to give you as a brother
and friend. But also I am giving respect to
My mother: Margarita Erlinda Paredes Alayo, which leer todo...