dead

When the dead walk among the living, tasting their food and drinks, that enjoy when they were alive, traveling between men who do not have fear if awaiting their return with joy and hope, because those are my traditions, which I always enjoy, looking at the cemetery, playing as a child. Maybe that's why I'm not afraid to die, the dead are not forgotten here in my country and we make fun of death as well as respect it.

But there are more human deaths than have actually died Walk like moths to the fire desperately seeking a end, trying to satisfy their needs, their desires, their revenge, their purposes, some do not see beyond their last wish, others want to forget it again. But there are also those who try to stop being dead, desperately seeking to be back among the living, seeking strength to where you have opportunity, these are the agreements that created or to which they were subjected.

Sometimes it's best to go between them that is the only place you can call home.

A glass of wine, remembering willing forget agonizing feeling a pain for which no use common cures and medicines have no effect. But even so it is best to pretend to be alive, now I hope that the dead have a feast and return safely to their world, because the living dead will follow with their cries.

One smile, one whisper, one voice.