A spotless mind,
An impeccable heart, to be more precise.
There was too much music
In his books.
It would flow, pulsate, vibrate,
dance, swirl, get entangled with his life’s plot.
Crossing borders,
Carrying love and faith in his heart,
Being a writer, a player, a mysterious expert in numerous fields.
Too spiritual to always be accurate,
Too chaotic to be entirely reliable,
Too valuable for each city he visited.
The grandeur of his aesthetic approach,
The depth of investigation and meticulous mastery behind each work,
Romantization of solitude
And bright, vivid, contraversial characters,
A social drama of Latin America,
A penchant for travel and reading,
A passion for knowledge
And perfect command of the irrational,
Of his own demons –
You see anyone in his books but himself.
The narrator is beyond the story
And he looks like a decent hero
For duplitious times.
A special elitist air as a cover-up for inequality and mass tragedies.
A spotless word.
A crystallized silence.
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