This “adventure of life and writing,” the Memory of the Water”, as I have called it, has been the route of my life through the diaries I have written, and now I think it has ended. Because, if I connect the two ends of time, I will find myself again at the beginning. And I could write another book from the diaries based on moments different from the ones I had chosen. And it would still be me. This is to say, what we have lived, however we have lived, they have infinite possible viewpoints and perspectives. An event or experience remains the same, but also altered, depending on the way that it will be enlightened or lived through poetry. Today I know that none of these belongs to me, nothing is mine. As creatures of an ephemeral existence we cannot determine what we are. And only that which we give is ours.