Consider the beauty of stories, a poetry of events rising from the roots of the things that occur...They resemble a lazy afternoon in front of a lake. The sun is shinning, its rays glitter in the ripples of what is said to be events of love, and of the many triumphs over space and time.
They also say that they represent moments of mending wounds, of laughter and joy, of bare feet running on the streets in a quiet neighborhood. These are the times, the waves of the ocean, the ripples of the water; they are stories heard, stories told, and they are the time we triumphed.

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