The pause has begun, portraying a desire, placing a pink frame around it and hanging it on the first post it found. The water. The curtain of branches. The long steps of the cat. The gray gaze that looks at the past and spells out echoes that are converted into faces. The white and pointless prayers. The mud marks forgotten at the sea shore. The sad image of a memory that comes floating on the wind and cracks the already broken mirrors. The loneliness that breathes the same words as always and fills you with vivid trails, repeated and dirty. A point that announces the pause, but no, the pause never begins never ends, is reborn every morning, each time that the dew smiles, each time that the wind sighs and brings me diminutive grains of sand in which your essence remains. And it is then that the pause… sobs your absence.