The movement of the treetops
fades my memories and my loves,
winter strikes with extreme violence
those places that my dementia hides today.
Many faces today are unknown,
I don't even know their last names anymore,
my mind gradually discolors who I was
leaving behind a fragile and subtle shell.
From my childhood there are only vague ideas,
although they still seem very curious to me,
Well that's the only thing I stick to
so as not to leave my seat in terror.
My freedom is summarized in four walls,
a bookcase and my collection of clarinets,
my music is the only thing that hasn't gone away,
so I feel like I'm not defeated yet.
Few people are in charge of taking care of me,
They feed me and always want to cheer me up,
I can only recognize the love of my life,
The rest is not consolidated in my memory.
My reflection in the mirror does not convince me,
I do not identify with the image that appears,
Every day I feel like I'm taking a step back,
I hope they don't remember me as this failure
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