The last days I have seen people with hopelessness. Valuable people that by a side they are felt sorry, and by another one suffer, cry and they are lamented. For me years ago it passed the time to lick the wounds to me. I learned that the blood of the enemies is but healthy who the mine own one. In the work there are time pressures, and it is not possible to advance. It is not fault mine, I cannot change it.

Nevertheless, sometimes they give desire to use the blow of Sansón and to throw the temple. It is extremely easy. But no. I can leave in front of the challenge, and I will do it. My body requests rest, not to sleep 8 hours, but to act. My body knows that something lacks. It is not physical comfort. It is not love, because although so far I am single, is anybody in my future either.

I can put to me to prepare my suitcase again, but no. Nevertheless, sometimes they give desire to do something, instead of " not doing ". Although it is very important to know how to contain the blow, is frustrating. Knowledge that is on the brink of madness change, that when raising the glance and seeing the reflection in the monitor, sees a face with the hard eyes. And it is a will exercise to continue writing.

In some pages that I read days ago, it is spoken of two types of wizards: The nervous ones, frightened by its own power like the lady of April, and what they have face of angered, of wizards who do not have another remedy that to make treatments with forces that do not know.

That when there is a smile in my eyes, my core is well, and nevertheless, are at moments like this, that my lips are tight and my eyes have the fury, when I have more power.

I have commented that to live as a wolf takes too many resources; to live a year as wolf has been seven years of being human, and sometimes are great the temptation, to untie the change, and to separate to me from the people who shout without realizing which they are only a little meat on the cheap clothes but presentable that can find.

It does awhile I saw something specially novel in spite of knowing it from before. I have mentioned that in some cases a mother can give to light to a gang member or a champion, but... NOT IT SAME MOTHER. I remembered this by a detail. In the work I saw an pregnant woman that she will have twins, and by the mother, crude and others things... I know that will give to light to drinkers of beer and secretaries. The miracle will not arrive that waits for she. The miracles do not exist, single the actions.

There is no greater miracle than the human body, and its nonsingle diversity pretends but also it commits. People have what there is to have and other no. The suitable person creates the suitable circumstances, the incorrect people single serve like biological sweepings producers and links of the nutritional chain

But there is hope. The hope is in people like a young person who I know, mother divorced of two children, and who gains the life in a honest work, with dignity, and without using her potential.

In the teacher of school that reachs seven every day in the morning, one hour and average before its hour, to speak with me by ICQ and to tell me to its problems and dreams, looking for the value to leave its earth looking for freedom, without realizing that when letting write and go to work to fulfill its dreams, is making them reality.

In the young person who makes intelligent and sincere questions, that that thinks the heart and the desire lay any way.

But the hope is not in other people. The hope dies in some people and kills the one that there is to his around.

It dies in the man who to the 60 years considers that its life is a failure, forgets his profits and he surrenders to the circumstances.

It dies in the young person with good intentions who will travel 4000 kms to find a a temporal job in which she hopes that they discover it like actress.

It dies in that by resentment it loses the courtesy.

And the hope appears again when somebody obtains the clarity necessary to remember that the sky gains with the hands, and lets write.