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I guess the flickering
of the lights that in the distance
mark my return.
They are the same that lit
with their pale reflections
deep hours of pain.
And although I did not want the return,
we always return to the first love.
The old street, where an echo said:
"Yours is your life, yours is your love,"
under the mocking look of the stars
that apathetically see me coming back today.
Coming back ... with withered forehead,
the snows of time
whitened my temples ...
Feeling ... that life is a breath,
that twenty years is nothing,
that the feverish look
wandering in the shadows,
looks for you and calls you ...
Living with the soul seized
at a sweet memory
for which I cry again ...
I am afraid of the meeting
with the past that faces
my life again.
I am afraid that the nights,
full of memories,
chain my dream ...
But the traveler who flees
sooner or later stops his walk!
And though oblivion, which destroys all,
has killed my old dream,
I keep a humble hope hidden
which is the whole fortune of my heart.