And he, with a heavy genius on his back, dashed toward the earth with a slight tremor, like a meteorite. No limit.
Flying, when he fell, he couldn't catch it because he couldn't do anything.
The beautiful Andalusia, the romantic Andalusia, he is just a poet, he has been dreaming, dreaming of his genius paintings, his face, dreaming that they can be together in a free country. He worked hard just to not wake up. But the cruel gunfire shattered his dream.
His dream is in his painting. He said that everything will eventually turn into dust. He said it would not be in the painting. Everything will stay in the painting. In order to paint, he went away from home, thinking that with painting, he would have a dream.
But he was unwilling. He said that he already had such a beautiful dream in his hometown, so he just wanted to make their dreams come true in this land, in this deeply loved land, in this land where he is there. broken.
He loves him, and he weaves their dreams with all the poems.
He loves him, and he drew all their dreams.
When I woke up from the dream, the painting was ruined. What you don't know is that his love is as strong and decisive as his.
I don't care whether this story is true or false, but I simply like this country where the fragrance of olives is wafting, and love that is so passionate to death.
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