I started to draw a line and created a horizon in the way now.
You came to the steps.
Drawing you left a key in the form and payment, very figurative.
The key opened the door that if I cross me blind.
I become, waiting, in a degree in pure truths potter,
and get the key modeling rigid pitcher of holy water,
that quenches my thirst of letters and the face of lived.
Now you're not key, even not payment,
not I a painter or potter,
but we are opening doors and giving shape
to what lies behind them.
