There are no chimneys.
no longer there, then, bearded fat to jump from one to the other, leaning what we want or do not expect but surprises us with a smile.
There are no letters full of wishes throw to uncertainty and magic.
There is no such row to receive clothing and not a toy. Neither
the charm of not quite understand what do the adults at dinner but trying and wanting to be part of it.
There is no monolithic fascination for fireworks.
There are no bells and whistles that game with new or with the remains of the fireworks, that game so strong that it creates and destroys worlds. Neither
not understand why her aunt wept.
There is nothing of that. But, somehow, changed, reinvented, it is still there. And so I raise my glass.
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