I cross the dryness of the world.

We dry like dried flowers,

we dry up if we don't follow ourselves.

The inner has a sense of its own.

How many times have we lost ourselves to meet again?

How many are the disagreements?

Empty yourself until nothing.

The abandoned body is simple, it is beautiful to listen to, crossing the eyes of the other.

Green is born from tears.

To be able to look at affections deeply undressed, and to be able to read the world with my body.

The running of someone who does not know from what he is fleeing.

He seeks with urgency, don't want to be caught by the dryness of the world.

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Clara Marchana