§ðlð

𝘌𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘴𝘪𝘯 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘰, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘰 𝘶𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘭𝘰,

𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘱𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘰 𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘰𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘰𝘴,

𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘢 𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘢 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘯𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘢 𝘵𝘶𝘷𝘦,

𝘶𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘥𝘰 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘰 𝘦𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘰 𝘥𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘯𝘶𝘣𝘦.

𝘚𝘰𝘺 𝘶𝘯 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘵𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘢, 𝘶𝘯 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘢,

𝘭𝘪𝘣𝘳𝘢 𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘯 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘰, 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘰 𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢ñ𝘢 𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘢,

𝘯𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘰 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰, 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘰 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘪 𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘰,

𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘰 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰, 𝘢𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘢 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘺 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰.

𝘠 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘰 𝘶𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘪𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘢 𝘱𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘢,

𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘴𝘧𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘻𝘰 𝘦𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘰 𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢,

𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘰 𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘴 𝘩𝘶𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘴 𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘢,

𝘷𝘰𝘺 𝘢 𝘴𝘢𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘴 𝘰𝘫𝘰𝘴 𝘢 𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘰𝘴...

𝘠𝘢 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘰 𝘭𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘥𝘢𝘥 𝘱𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘫𝘦𝘯𝘢,

𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘭 𝘷𝘢𝘴𝘰 𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘴,

𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘰 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘴 𝘰𝘫𝘰𝘴 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘴,

𝘺 𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘥𝘰 𝘤𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢 𝘥𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘮𝘪 𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘢 𝘦𝘳𝘢 𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘥𝘢...

𝘘𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘦, 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘳 𝘮𝘪 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰,

𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘳 𝘭𝘢 𝘤𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘥𝘢 𝘥𝘦 𝘭𝘢 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘦𝘭𝘨𝘢 𝘮𝘪 𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘻𝘰,

𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘢 𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘥𝘢 𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢 𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘢,

𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢, 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘧é 𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘪 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘢...

𝘠𝘢 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴é 𝘦𝘯 𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘰, 𝘺 𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢,

𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘦 𝘺𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘰 𝘢 40,

𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘪ó𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢 𝘥𝘦 "𝘺𝘰" 𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘫𝘢,

𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘢𝘻ó𝘯 𝘥𝘦 𝘶𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘻ó𝘯 𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘥𝘰 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘫𝘢𝘴.

𝘚𝘪𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘻, 

𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘰 𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘮á𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢 𝘥𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘢,

𝘴𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘨𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘪,

𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘰 𝘱𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘪𝘳, 𝘩𝘢𝘺 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘣𝘪𝘥𝘢...

𝘏𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘯,

𝘺𝘰 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘩í, 𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘻𝘢 𝘭𝘢 𝘮𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘦 𝘺 𝘭𝘢 𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘢,

𝘺 𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘲𝘶í 𝘮𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘴, 𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘰,

𝘺𝘢 𝘷𝘦𝘴... 𝘥𝘢 𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘭𝘢 𝘰𝘱𝘤𝘪ó𝘯 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘨𝘪𝘥𝘢...

𝘋𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘳 𝘰 𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘳, 𝘭𝘭é𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘪 𝘧𝘳í𝘰,

𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘯 𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘶𝘫ó𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘭 𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘰,

𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘤𝘰 𝘦𝘴𝘢 𝘭𝘶𝘻 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘪 𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘢 𝘺 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘪𝘦,

𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘰 𝘴𝘪 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘨𝘰 𝘺𝘰, 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘳á 𝘯𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘦...

𝘕𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘦 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘷𝘰 𝘢𝘩í 𝘤𝘶𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘣𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘭,

𝘺 𝘢𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘢 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘰 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘭, 𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘮𝘦 ¿𝘘𝘶𝘪é𝘯 𝘦𝘴𝘵á?

𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘰 𝘺𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘴, 𝘷𝘰𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘴,

𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘴 𝘺𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘯...

𝘚𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘦 𝘭𝘢 𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘢 𝘱𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘭 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘢𝘨ü𝘦,

𝘱𝘰𝘳 𝘮á𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘷𝘢𝘯, 𝘦𝘩,

𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘻𝘣𝘢𝘫𝘰 𝘱𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦, 

𝘤𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘦𝘴𝘰 𝘯𝘰 𝘱𝘶𝘦𝘥𝘰 𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦...

𝘚𝘰𝘭𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘰 𝘶𝘯 𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘰 𝘥𝘦 𝘭𝘶𝘻 𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘢,

𝘵𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘰 𝘶𝘯𝘰 𝘦𝘯 18 𝘢ñ𝘰𝘴 𝘥𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘢,

𝘥𝘦𝘫𝘢 𝘥𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘭 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘴,

𝘥𝘦𝘫𝘢 𝘥𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘶𝘭𝘻𝘢𝘳 𝘮𝘪 𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘣é𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘢.

𝘝𝘰𝘺 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘤á𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘥𝘰 𝘢 𝘯𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘰,

𝘴𝘰ñ𝘢𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘥𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘶𝘦ñ𝘰𝘴,

𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘰 𝘦𝘯 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘢, 𝘤𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘪 "𝘺𝘰" 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘰,

𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘢 𝘧𝘳í𝘢, 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘴í 𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰 𝘱𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰...

𝘚𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴 𝘥𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘫𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘵𝘳á𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴, 

𝘺𝘢 𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘴é 𝘥𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘳 𝘭𝘢 𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘢 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘰,

𝘫𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘮𝘦 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘺 𝘢𝘩𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰...

𝘫𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘮𝘦 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘺 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘰...