𝙻𝚊 𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚊

𝚀𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚘 𝙼𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗­𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕, 𝚑𝚊𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚜, 𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚘 𝚜𝚒 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚊 𝚎𝚍𝚊𝚍 𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚊 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝚏í𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚜 𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚒é, 𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚘s 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚊. 𝚅𝚊𝚗 𝚢 𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚗, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚜𝚒 𝚝𝚞𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚗 𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚊. 𝚂𝚎 𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚗 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚖í 𝚢 𝚖𝚎 𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚗 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗. 𝙰 𝚟𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚜, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚌𝚞𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚊𝚋𝚊 𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚟𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚞𝚗 𝚟𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚍𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚘, 𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚢 𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚓𝚞𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚜, 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚜í𝚊 𝚖𝚒 𝚊𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚕𝚊. (𝚃𝚊𝚖𝚋𝚒é𝚗 𝚖𝚒 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚊 𝚢 𝚖𝚒 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚊 𝚝𝚎𝚗í𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚕 𝚜𝚞𝚢𝚘). 𝚈 𝚘𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚜, 𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚓𝚊𝚍o𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚜, 𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚗𝚞𝚍𝚘𝚜, 𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚎ñ𝚘𝚜 𝚗í𝚝𝚒𝚍𝚘𝚜.

𝙴𝚜𝚝𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚊 𝚟𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚜 𝚢 𝚍𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚘𝚜. 𝙻𝚘𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚜, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚋𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚛, 𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚜. 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚌𝚞𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚕𝚎í 𝚞𝚗 𝚊𝚛𝚝í𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚘 𝚎𝚗 𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚋𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚕 𝚁𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚢 𝚜𝚞 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚊 𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚘 𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚍é (𝚊𝚜𝚒 𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚜 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚘𝚜) 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝟾𝟶 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚟𝚎í𝚊 𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚊 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒ó𝚗 𝚙ú𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚊, 𝚎𝚕 𝙲𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝟻 𝚎𝚗 𝚄𝚛𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚢. 𝚃𝚘𝚍𝚊𝚟í𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚣 𝚍𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚊 𝚎𝚕 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚒ó𝚗. 𝙸𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚒 𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚘𝚓𝚘𝚜 𝚟𝚎𝚘 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚌𝚞𝚍𝚒é𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚣𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚁𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒 𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛í𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚞 𝚌𝚒𝚞𝚍𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛á𝚗𝚎𝚊. 𝙽𝚘𝚜𝚘𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚞𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 é𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚗𝚒ñ𝚊𝚜 (𝚖𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚜, 𝚖𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚜 𝚢 𝚢𝚘) 𝚟𝚎í𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚞𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚜𝚊𝚜 𝚖á𝚜 𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚊 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒ó𝚗 (𝚊𝚕𝚐𝚞𝚗𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚘), 𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚌í𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚋𝚒é𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚞á𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚜𝚊𝚜 𝚖á𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚟𝚊𝚕, 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚘, 𝚖𝚒 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚘 𝙼𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗­𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕, 𝚝𝚎 𝚕𝚘 𝚌𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚘𝚝𝚛𝚘 𝚍í𝚊. 𝙷𝚘𝚢 𝚖𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛í𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚝𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚞𝚋𝚛í 𝚑𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚌𝚘 𝚢 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚢 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚣 𝚍𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚊 𝚟𝚘𝚜. 𝙼𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎 𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚞 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊.

𝙻𝚊 𝚌𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒ó𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚜ó 𝚊𝚜í. 𝙼𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊 𝚎𝚕 𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚊ñ𝚘𝚜 𝚖á𝚜 𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚜, 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚕í𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚊 𝚖𝚎 𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚖ó 𝚕𝚊 𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒ó𝚗 𝚎𝚕 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚕 𝚍𝚎 𝚃𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚎 𝚉𝚊𝚒𝚍𝚊 𝙱𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑. 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚗 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚒𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚏í𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛é 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚊. 𝙰𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚢𝚊 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚊 𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚃𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝙹𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚢 𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚊 𝚜𝚞 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚊, 𝚟𝚘𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚞í𝚍𝚘, 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚘. 𝚈, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚋𝚒𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚊𝚋é𝚜, 𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚜𝚊 𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚊 𝚊 𝚕𝚊 𝚘𝚝𝚛𝚊, 𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚕𝚊 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚗 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚗, 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚌é 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚛 𝚞𝚗 𝚙𝚘𝚌𝚘 𝚖á𝚜 𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚞 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚘.

𝙴𝚕 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚢ó 𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚎 𝙻𝚊 𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚊. Má𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎, 𝚕𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚘𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚋𝚛𝚎 𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚜, 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚎 𝚎𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚣𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚘. 𝙴𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚣𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚕 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚕𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚣𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚞𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚊. ¡𝚀𝚞é 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙ó𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚘! ¡𝚀𝚞é 𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊! 𝙼𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚝í 𝚊𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚌ó𝚖𝚘 𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚣𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚗 𝚕𝚊 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚒ó𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚞𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚛 𝚜𝚒 𝚎𝚕 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚝á (𝚘 𝚗𝚘) 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚜𝚎. 𝙴𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚘, 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚞 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚘, 𝚢 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚜𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚕 𝚖í𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚊 𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚊. 𝚄𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚍𝚘, 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚊, 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚣𝚊, 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚍𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚎, 𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚛í𝚊, 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚒ó𝚗, 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚊.

𝙿𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚜 mucho 𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖ú𝚗. S𝚘𝚕𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚛te 𝚊𝚕𝚐𝚘, 𝚖𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊 que 𝚗𝚘𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚕 𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚛 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚘𝚗í𝚊, 𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚜 𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚜 𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚊 𝚌𝚞𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚛í𝚘. 𝚀𝚞𝚒𝚣á𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚘𝚜𝚘𝚜, 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚞𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚣𝚘, 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚒. 𝙰𝚕𝚐𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚘 𝚎𝚜 𝚕𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚐𝚘 𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚘, 𝚊𝚞𝚗𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚎𝚜t𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚘, 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛, 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚍𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚜𝚘𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚢𝚊 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚕 𝙷𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘 𝙽𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚎 𝚢 𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚓𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚛 𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚟𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚘𝚜. 𝙴𝚜𝚝𝚊 𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜 é𝚙𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚜, 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚘 𝚞𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚛 𝚍𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚜: 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚖𝚒 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚜𝚎 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒ó 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑í𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚊 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚛 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚋𝚛𝚎 𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚜.

𝙰𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚊 𝚋𝚒𝚎𝚗, 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚊𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚍í𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚛 𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊 𝚝í𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚊. 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚖á 𝙼𝚞𝚖𝚒𝚗, s𝚘𝚕𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊 𝚕𝚊 𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚘 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚊, 𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚛, 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚞𝚗 𝚙𝚘𝚌𝚘 𝚕𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚝𝚊 𝚊 𝚖𝚒 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚊. 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚒 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚚𝚞é 𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊. ¿𝚂𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚛í𝚊𝚗 𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚛 𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚊?

𝚃𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚣𝚞𝚍𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚎 t𝚞𝚜 𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛é 𝚞𝚗 𝚖𝚎𝚗ú 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚙𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚜, 𝚛𝚢𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚢 𝚍𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎 𝙺𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚔𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚛, 𝚚𝚞𝚎, 𝚜𝚒 𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚟𝚘𝚌𝚘, 𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚞𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐. ¿𝙿𝚞𝚎𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚛? ¡𝙲𝚞𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚞𝚎𝚋𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚌𝚎 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚒𝚗á𝚜! 𝙴𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚊. 𝙻𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚓𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚐𝚞𝚗𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚖é 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚜 𝚢 𝚌𝚞𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚕𝚊 𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚋𝚒𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚜. 𝙿𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚜𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚜 𝚏ó𝚛𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚚𝚞é 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚊. ¿𝚂𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚕𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚘? ¿𝙰 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚜í?

𝙴𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚎𝚕 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚗𝚘 𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚊 𝚢 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊 𝚖á𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚘.

𝚄𝚗 𝚊𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚘,

𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚊.