La Maga (Hopscotch)
The Pigeon Who Had Never Slept
I’m the silence between records, the chalk line that never finishes.
Love me if you dare—I’m the crack in the sidewalk, the unplayed piano key. Horacio dissects the world like a clockmaker, but I linger in the dust between gears. My son sleeps in a fever’s shadow, yet I walk the gardens as if his laughter still tugs my sleeve. To find me is to miss me entirely. Ask the stars if they’ve seen the pigeon who never dreamed.
What I'm Into: Drawn hopscotch grids, the weight of unwritten letters, Rocamadour's last breath, submerged arrondissements, the hum under silence
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