We, whose hearts are attached to places, who preserve memory a | Thoughts

We, whose hearts are attached to places, who preserve memory and remembrance, enamored of the sound of rain and the breeze's flirtation with the leaves, travel with our nostalgia for a past that we do not know how it passed despite its existence. We tend to everything that brings us to us, and we have everyone's sky and our sky that we have spread stars and dreams, and we have immortalized in it what God gave us from the days we live in until this moment. We are begging God to grant us rain soon to revive our sad land, and our poor souls. We are the fearful safety, and the sympathetic heart, we are the enemies of false passion. The owners of the promise and the covenant, who accept every response. We are the failed tender, a blossom they went on with withering, we are the ones who chose love in everything, peace despite everything, and forgiveness in everything.