Every day she got up and put his old clothes of happiness, dressed from head to toe, the one garment that, in the eyes of others, so beautiful, the feet he wore something that did not reach past the thorns and it ached; put a sombreira that covered his face, bringing forth all that sun, a smile hidden in the shadows, was holding something, a sort of glove, covering everyone, and everyone felt cherished by his presence, no one saw anything wrong, sometimes she even went unnoticed before such (...) spent all day with that dress, which looked frail, but resisted, in a way surprising to all ills of the day passing (...) but night fell she returned home tired from all that weight of the garment, and took it apart piece by piece, undressed from head to toe is full, and returned to his cozy "reality" as the night came, he put a simple dress that had not a fixed name, was a nomad of feelings, sometimes came to grief, others miss, once just tired, but that always made her lie on her bed and her flowery soft pillow that best understand the world, for a time there, she felt protected. (Warllyssong Sena)
