One year without her, it's a long time and litle tears.

One year isn't enough to cry for all she was, and I think, not all of then.

In that hour, he stand alone under the sun. He always does it, alone, reading, sometimes happy (with the kind of happiness that you can see too far) and sometimes not. I can see he eating each word, felling each sun, each cloud. Talking with God and, mysteriously, having answers.

In that hour, he is a little bit more, he.

Here will be just a place, 'a solitary place' I think so. But I made this house to be the home of my memories, my secret histories and my way to say what not could be said for all word - and what I say daily inside my heart.

Every this secrets will be here, but not too easy to know...