My dear soul, here I am at the end of a long, wide and hard period in which expires certain future that had not been strong and religiously fed, but tortured to annihilation (something that, more or less, I'm inimitable ). If sometimes, in recent years, he had been able to apologize pretext that some attempts to more human settling and naturally in life failed because the persons concerned had not understood me, and made me uninterruptedly suffer violence, injustice and prejudice, Rushing and in such great distress, it is now that after months of suffering I find very differently oriented: having to admit that, this time, no one can help me.

And even if someone came with her most innocent, the most immediate soul and find your reference in the same stars, although I endure despite my clumsiness and rigidity and retain its pure and infallible available to me; even when the ray of his love came crashing ten times in the murky and dense surface of my underwater universe, it still would be able (I know now) of impoverishing within the abundance of its renewed support without ceasing, lock him in the unbreakable domain of a complete absence of tenderness, to the extent that become irrelevant to his aid, he passed the fullness wilt, to give a sinister decay.

In short, I have experienced many things during these events; at the moment I'm stating this: that once again only if it was up to a pure and joyful task in life, as if it had never had bad experiences with me, come to me again, merciful. Since it is now clear that there also have failed again and, far from advancing, repeat this course for another year of pain; and every day I find inscribed on the blackboard the same words, the bending sad thought I had learned to exhaustion.

What I would change so radically my trouble began with many, many writings, light as sprouted heart: I know never have written the like. In those letters (increasingly understood better) amounted irresistible petulance, as if I were facing a new and full outbreak of my most peculiar essence, that, freed since an inexhaustible communication, it spread from the shed happier time I, writing day after day, felt his running happy and seemed incomprehensible rest that prepared him the most natural way in a soul able to pick it up.

Keep pure and transparent this communication and at the same time or feel or think anything that is found excluded by it: that's what at once, without my knowing how, became the measure and the law of my act and if any man ever could be quiet inwardly agitated, I myself went with these writings. This daily occupation and my relationship with my writing made me indescribably sacred way, and since then seized me great confidence, as if he had finally found a way out of this painful continuously stagnate in dire circumstances.

To what extent was then committed to change, he could also feel it in the fact that even things past, when I have something occurred to them, surprised me by how reappearing; if it was times which had often discussed above, for example, emphasized aspects unnoticed or barely conscious, and each acquired, to speak with the innocence of a landscape, a pure visibility, presence, and I enriched, he was part of myself, so and so for the first time I seemed to be master of my life, not for an acquisition by a holding, by an interpretive understanding of perishable things, but for this very new truth that also spread through my memories.

Yours.
Patricio.