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The magic of numbers

I like to think the magic of numbers, in strength, in its forms, in their different meanings. Caught five hundred twelve, the arrangement in my head, I look, the taste, touch, and crumble: five, five are the fingers of my hand one, I am one and finally the two, she and I are two two that we are after the land only for us to stop, then continue their movement rotation. I came from the south with my backpack Arawak and she was in my north. She is my north.

my hand with my five fingers are in line with apple skin on his body stretched out on the cot and stroke with my hand, my fingers every turn of his body. I close my eyes to track the movement of my hand up and down by geography and across two beautiful mountains from east to west and from north to south and my fingers are entertained in their beaks. It flows through the ports and seas. Slowly. No hurry. It's a slow journey because I want to memorize every corner, every place and I want to draw at once the way back.

The five hundred and twelve is part of my life and like to be around to remember those days when both are dedicated to cultivating happiness you can have the color of carnations and the sea, the moon and rivers, the mountains and the stars, poetry and music. Because sometimes I'm just like you. And only the certainty that we will soon be two returns me the illusion that the five will again walk through your body.