To gramma (the letter) I don't want to think the same over and over As if they were all lies, ashes and embers I want open windows to feel the breeze To keep my mind empty To also have the time as guide I don't want you to tell me all you've been through The world does not end even if the glass is cracked I want you to come find me and sit for a chat How do we feel passionately How to we live so dispassionately I don't want you to be saddened on Sunday nights Without this darkness the years are left empty I want you to leave to save yourself, to stop complaining To become forgetful on the path about who you were and how you looked like Thus I will love you a lot and see you a little Like a distant woman Whom I grew to love before leaving I don't want you to be saddened on Sunday nights…