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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