In those numerous, crushed papers,
under her desk and overflowing from the trash can,
I found numerous broken characters, reflecting the sun in thousand pieces.
I counted those papers and found out the number of times
she tried to break out from the skin she wears,
jumping on the keys of the typewriter with the wings of words.
She is out there, in a world where she lives thousand lives,
with some new fears and joys, in every character,
and like a snake she left her old skins on the floor,
crushed and trashed.