′Thoughts that are written recklessly to many others which are written when sad, and depart along with those drops; ones that land on the ink, smears your read. As I write, I use my thoughts, furthermore, I transport them to another place; somewhere I believe is a place of my own, and wish that you too, will get to know. I still cannot define my emotions although I sincerely write these urges that I cannot describe, but sense, to then, acclaim to feel something I am yet to write for I cannot– I have never known what it is I feel, I have never known how to properly, write. Best yet, I have my pen, one that excels in what I cannot– it listens, it does not urge to speak, it remains calm.′
El amor, es sólo una cuestión de la soledad que en el punto de la desesperación, puede exonerar la necesidad de la masturbación, y, por supuesto, al momento de dar lo que no tenemos; el tiempo nos demuestra que sólo somos la esencia de lo que no podemos ver, e por tal, Sí! somos eso– amores con sólo cuestiones del tiempo.
– Katherine Dahiana Ramos.
20 de Agosto del año 2011