II

I cried the whole night, not for something, but someone.

I don't know if he likes taking pictures, but he does. And while the rest ot the world talks about his aesthetic photographs, I try to understand that what I see in them is not just a picture of a window, but the entrance or exit of something that's locked outside and it craves to get in.

Who knows? Maybe the drops of rain on his window, were my tears some time.