I put in the corner cupboard that everything felt. I kept all our memories, my tears so often imagined to have them blocked, many daily, many hours, music. The flushed face, blurred vision, no, none of this would make a difference. I saved every scar this rough bunch. Endless memories. The rain falls, but trovejes not allow loopholes to erase every smile, but that comes the hard fire to burn this infinite illusions and delusions. So, that's sweet. I repeat every morning when you open the windows to let in the sun or gray days, so: that's sweet. When there is sun, and the sun hits my face creased from sleep or insomnia, contemplating the loose dust particles in the air, like a small universe, I repeat seven times for luck: that's sweet that is sweet and so that's sweet forth. But if someone asked me what should be sweet, maybe not answer. Everything is so vague as nothing "Caio F. 22