O beautiful world. To you I write, so carry my words to your good souls..Whoever sees them in the great square thinks them as one, as if he has traded his shadow for a friend who is following him, or that his soul is full of breath, and it rages and rages, so his body splits to free it, but it remained tied to him, following him, moving through the square, entering it and leaving, avoiding people, for they have a world that if he dipped his limbs in it, he would shake, not A place for him in it, not now. , , The arena is large, people are like eating in it types, he and his companion are among them and not among them, no one knows him, and thus it suits him, as if he is a walking secret, a secret that has not been buried, apparent and apparent, but by the action of a curse his inner shadow remains hidden, on his back carrying hope, and in his bag in which he comforted his shoulders A note on its papers what is heavier on it, so exchange it for a lighter ink.