When everything was true; but in reality it had been a while since I had come to the conviction that everything was a lie, although we would have to reach the why, the origin, the cause. It was one thing to recognize falsehood and another thing to say that it did not respond to a reason, to a contagion or to a kind of punishment or illness. Maybe everything was the fault of the house, the damn house, the one that once seemed cheerful, smiling, comfortable and that little by little had been transforming, covering with a kind of unreal dust and silence. Today even the rickety wooden bench and the pruned and flowerless rose bushes seemed to belong to another place where the nothing was owner of everything.
When everything was true; but in reality it had been a while since I had come to the conviction that everything was a lie, although we would have to reach the why, the origin, the cause. It was one thing to recognize falsehood and another thing to say that it did not respond to a reason, to a contagion or to a kind of punishment or illness. Maybe everything was the fault of the house, the damn house, the one that once seemed cheerful, smiling, comfortable and that little by little had been transforming, covering with a kind of unreal dust and silence. Today even the rickety wooden bench and the pruned and flowerless rose bushes seemed to belong to another place where the nothing was owner of everything.