Tea

I´m hoping for, in this exact instant, such cosmic as every or anyone, something I will find. Linden Tree tea I´ll drink till I die and will burn without this crouching thirsty.
Yes... Nothing is useless nor vain, everything it´s made thinking in that irreproachable that every being has in its soul... (of chess... Maybe?)

When? That´s his question, looking at his hands made of nails and wool, as a magnet which everything it sticks, knitting some secret wish and at last: Ending? Thought.
And me, here, closed among my wraps, I take a glance at you from the far away while I tell you:
Can we take a ride today?

Can we?

Today.

The anything...