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The Magi ...

I have to tell you a secret: I believe in Santa Claus. And I recognize now that the watch fits their handles in two-thirty in the morning, so I would not read a lot and shame of such recognition is lower because believing in something, knowing that there is crime. Crime worthy of complaint to the nearest police court. I remember one time that I thought I saw Baltasar in my living room. Stay was not very big but coquettishly furnished with the taste you only have mothers who want to give personality to your home. In the middle of the night I woke up and, peeping through the door of my room which then communicated with the room, I saw glistening near the Christmas tree, an enormous ring with a green stone. Baltasar well recognized. He carried in his right hand on the ring finger. Then my head began to spin and when I woke up lying on the floor, and went to see the room I realized that cars and Baltasar and Melchior and Gaspar, that there was no one except a curtain that moved timidly, and a wind that did nothing but more loving caress . I went out guns and curled at the foot of the couch. There, with legs up to his chin and his hands covering my head trying to figure out if it was true that he had seen or was only a dream. And I still think: "There was this vision or was just my imagination? And the answer is complex, especially if we remember that many things will never be what we want to be but different and we must not forget that so many exist only where the dreams live, in our imagination. Kings think there is like thinking that yours and mine, ours will one day be possible. And, meanwhile, acknowledge that I believe in the Three Kings. In all, especially in Balthazar. Who knows? Maybe someday I see again.

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feel ... August 2

Noel, Thanks.

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was as real a story as incredible, the kind that you have and if not you be the star, not give credence to what happened. Scenes film, close your eyes and pinch yourself saying to himself: "Really this is happening to me me? But there was one script, just what should have been sketches of realities that never were and, given the circumstances, never will be. Never ever.

was a night of agonizing heat, the kind where you feel like running away to find another place to breathe some fresh air and more or less spontaneous, so I decided. I had a couple of days off in the office and since the summer would be exhausting, it had considered the possibility of taking a quick trip to target the north, an area that I do not disappoint me and indeed it did, because I never got to tread. I kept the tickets in hand, face widespread bewilderment lela and reporting that its own reality from fiction. I had always observed lounging on the couch and impotence itself an "I love him but I do not want," notes how a supervisor with pretensions of official board sourness prevented this cute guy who missed the flight that would the girl of his dreams, that which, by blows of fate, never see. It always happens: a lost direction, a new mobile phone and what began as a beautiful love story ends abruptly against screen in an airport.

Trying to compare the position, I was surrounded by a scrum of people who did nothing but mourn with joy for the expected and probably delayed reunion. Not knowing what to do and abandoned in the arms of destiny, I realized that in the end I would be surprised that the film's argument (if any) are beginning to develop the reverse. As I waited at home and had no plausible excuse to get back in the middle of the night with a face that arouses feelings of pity in others, I turned off the phone without first sending a message that was never taken in their correct terms for their recipient. Nothing more embarrassing than receiving calls in the most inopportune times, when there is nothing to say or what will be said may be the result of momentary outbursts such as misguided. With a bag provided the basic survival kit for two days and some clean clothes wash I thought that once the party had no place to waste time. The station clock marked more than the 00: 30 and interior doubt assailed me what to do. For moments, I considered calling this friend who is always there for anything. Of truth. Of those who call you when you're down and tear your smile when buried god knows where. But my adventurous soul kept me from doing so speed up the pace and went to the ticket of the season.

Is Where does the next bus? - Asked quietly.

Puzzled, the hit he snapped: "Excuse me? I went

tone of voice and with evident bad humor repeated: "Where does the next bus please?

A second, let me see you replied with typical signs reported that at night a young make such a question.

With some (other) tickets in hand that should be redeemed at 02: 30 at the foot of the stairs I started to coach scrutinize all those places that make up a bus station as that was. Urinals, of course, included. When the clock struck two in the morning I left my air researchers aside and walked toward the basin not allocated without increasing the local view that I have hardened myself.

off (although a slab of stone would be much more comfortable than that threadbare chair and chewing gum stuck on the front seat), undertook the march to an unknown location. Half real, half non-existent. And that's where I am now. Not knowing where to go or, better said, not knowing what to do.