The resin is the product of pain, tears leaking from the tree wounded. Drops golden yellow like honey, do not run away, do not run away like water, do not leave the tree. Remain glued to his torso to keep him company, to help him to resist, to grow. Memories are drops of resin that flow from the wounds of life. Even the most beautiful bites become sad because over time they have already been irretrievably, gone, lost forever.
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