We're all living two lives. The one, transitory, that of the meanness and ingratitude, and the other, that of the wild and unrealizable affection. Between them extends an immense, old, random, incomprehensible garden with much of people. Here, the two lives meet each other, they are hated, separated, and of need, they cross for once again. "Love, gardens, ingratitude" are a political play of claim in this garden.
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