In my world, the letter will be a long forgotten thing; a gratuitous gesture.
People will talk, chat, tweet, text each other
In bits of love, in bits of soul, in bits of different textures,
In the beats of time voided of time.

Apothecaries of delight will gratify
Anyone willing to donate instant-grams of blood to the mighty ocean
Of memory loss.

You, and I, and them:
Designers of life and lives full of possibilities
Never fulfilled, never fully felt.

Letters will stand in a dusty corner
Of light, in the Scriptures, in the shelves of forgotten people,
In the libraries of oblivion.
They will mean nothing else but
Hanging in, hanging the corpse of remembrance on the oaks
Of barren lands, all the way into the horizon;

Hangout people!, hang out of yourselves:
Break the letter in letters,
break this letter in letters,
Break the life sentence in words,
Break the silence in love.