You are reading it and you reported that you are enjoying it
What have I done?
Your life won't be the same after that reading
What have I done?
I almost implore for you to do not see me
Because we all are inside that book, and you are smart
We all are there
I almost beg for you to do not find me within the book
But it is useless
You are sailing inside those pages
The Buendia men are again alive and living
They are breathing, fighting, dreaming, fucking
They are going in and out of Macondo bringing sorrows, taking solitudes
The house is getting old
The tree is getting higher and wide
The Iguarán women are living and alive again
The are breathing, fighting, dreaming, fucking
They are the whole family
The whole town
The whole country
They hold the world
Poor women and men that do not know about the wind
Goddamn Melquíades and his scrolls
And the genes in the bloodline of the Buendia
The curse of a pig tail
The curse of loving and be loved
The curse of doing and not being able to let it go
The fatigue, the everlasting fatigue of being a leader
In a beautiful wild place where nature is savage
Where resources are never enough for the needs
Where fantasy is always less amazing than reality
You are also there and you do not know it
You are there among the plantations
Next to the train
Close to the gypsy caravan
In the jaws of the ants
What have I done?
Now, you will know it.
