The wind, ferocious wolf at night, howled outside. My ventilator hummed uniformly, and its humming comforted to me. It was a noise mine who to oppose the other people’s world, whereupon asordinaba the roar of the avenue, the wind and, fatally, the sea. Compatible of ahorrale anguishes, I decided to repress abrupt reactions each that approached to me. It ignored its level of concienicia, even of intuition. The dog distinguishes a man of a donkey, and to his master between thousands. Indeed, it seemed to understand my thought, it was calmed and to the end it remained in the floor, in the middle of the room.

To probably it pleased the polished and clean surface him, the clear ocher of the tiled one of ceramics. It had been a worm before knowing us, and still she took with himself under his wings that cylindrical and oily being. Its body was of a red one seeds, translucent, its vulgar belly. But they were its wings. Oh! , it maintained unfolded, hoisted, unconquered her beautiful pair of brown wings with gold outlines.

Its heraldic one, distinguished standards that declared their aesthetic and ontological supremacy, its wings! Their wings abran to an unsalvable abyss between the human worm and she. The chance had brought it quarter. At any time elavara of the prosaic surface of the ground, would give again with the window and it would occur to the wind, would at night bring closer that it to the sky. I, however, would remain thrown bocabajo, reading my Saul Bellow, that one, last hours of the year. Only, Saul. The accomplice assonance only, sun me enterneci. I conceived then another variant of history. I felt it, to the butterfly. It had entered in search of something more. She, santo sky, needed company, or had to lavish it. She needed somebody with that to draw for that vast night in which the solitude breaks its docks, dilates until a Metaphysical dimension. The men were with the men. Six billions of souls were an immense family of. But my butterfly was, of that did not fit the smaller doubt, orphan. Then I had the certainty that one would not go away, that would be to remain with me in the illuminated tepidity of my room. My resemblances already could burn all the powder had and by having, making sound to their high sirens and the delirious madness of their whistles, to embriagar in joy and waste of feelings lacking these five for almost the twelve until the dawn. It was with me, and how no, quedamente, at this moment, of his eyes and a mine tear she was rolling. Happy New Year I whispered, and she, santo sky! , he shook the wings, revolote in the brilliance of my soul and he left to me through the window. Happy year! shouted somebody against the wind outside.