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You had a heart, once. Only distance
remains under your chest, only
the exercise of living, the haste
of loving loneliness like a ghost
reduced to instinct, and necessarily.
And necessarily you have understood
that the last kisses were panic,
not even doubt, the astounding
desire to live with one's questions.

autógrafo

Luis García Montero
Translation by Alice McAdams


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Book II
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