Crossing the desert is full of traps, painful images that lead to the lost oasis of mocking mirages. But these escorts, being tenacious, have little significance when compared to the vast company of the questions. These are the ones that cause the profound loneliness, the unquenchable thirst that burns the throat really started when crossing?, why?, when eventually, if they end? Traps, lost images, illusions are accidents on the margins of the road. The real journey through the desert are the questions.
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