I want to go there, feel the heat deep inside, and then, there, fill myself with people's spirits, with their chats. And play, and sing with them all. I will not cry even though tears run through my face. In that moment, the ectasy of the tension, the heaviness of the body physically compresses me against the prefabricated package that condenses the human presence . . .

The stiffness, weight and eternity of the structure against the flexibility, the lightness of the breath, make up an strange pair, that always leaves a trail. They are always unbalanced in the scale but . . . there is harmony between container and contents.

What could the breath contain? What moves fast cannot be seen, it disappears. Besides this, the most intangible and elusive, is what cannot be seen. At this time of confusion we all are like breaths. We lose our weight and, after so much friction between the bodies, we levitate, melted into an incorporeal mass, and we do not find the rules (that make us exist).