When I was young and I thought love was lust, but couldn't experience none, I was in search of love.

And I wanted to discover it in the lips of a damsel, not in the softness of the wind, nor in the suffocation of the heat, of the warm afternoon sun, but more than not, I was looking for a definition of what love was.

And now I wonder, if I traded the definition for the Love, as in one given afternoon, I read what this love was, as I heard it on a song, made of the letters of a man, who wrote them in Corinthian soil.

But I sometimes suspect, love is more than that, and certainly more than this, and it lives in all those hidden places, of the things we cannot see but only feel.

Thank you for the mention, Toni.

Pablo