𝙵𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚜í𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚘

𝚃𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚘 𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚌𝚞𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚖ó𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚘 𝚞𝚛𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚊 𝚖á𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚕á 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝟺𝟶º 𝙲: 𝚖𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚘 𝚊 𝚞𝚗 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚘. 𝙻𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚊 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊 𝚖𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚊. 𝙰𝚕𝚕í 𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚢 𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎ñ𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚊 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚜 𝚢 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚐𝚘𝚜 𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚜. 𝚈 𝚞𝚗 𝚙𝚘𝚌𝚘 𝚖á𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚕á, 𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚘 𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎 𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚜í𝚊𝚜 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚜, 𝚎𝚜𝚝á 𝚎𝚕 𝚖𝚊𝚛.

𝚀𝚞𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚎, 𝚊 𝚖𝚒 𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚒𝚞𝚍𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚜, 𝚑𝚊𝚢 𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜, 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚜, 𝚋𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚜, 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚎 𝚙ú𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚘 𝚟𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚢 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 (𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚜, 𝚝𝚊𝚡𝚒𝚜, 𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚘, 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜, 𝚋𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚜). 𝙷𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚛í𝚊𝚜, 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚛í𝚊𝚜, 𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚜 𝚢 𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚜. 𝙷𝚊𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛í𝚊𝚜, 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛í𝚊𝚜 𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚊 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊, 𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚊ñ𝚘 𝚢 𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚣𝚘𝚛. 𝙷𝚊𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚜𝚘 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚓𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘 𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚌𝚎 𝚍𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚢𝚊𝚋𝚊 𝚢 𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚌𝚎 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚎. 𝙽𝚘 𝚙𝚞𝚎𝚍𝚘 𝚙𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚛 𝚖á𝚜.

𝙼𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚊 𝚕𝚊 𝚌𝚒𝚞𝚍𝚊𝚍, 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚘, 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚎𝚗 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚘, 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚓𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚊 𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚜𝚒𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚗𝚒 𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚒 𝚘𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚜 𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚞𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚗 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚊 𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚗 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚎. 𝙼𝚎 𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚜á𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚗í𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚊 𝚞𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚛 𝚍𝚎 𝚐𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚘 𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊í𝚜𝚘 𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚓𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚕 𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘. 𝙴𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚊, 𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚖í, 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚢 𝚙𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚒 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗, 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚎𝚍𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚊 𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚊 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎 𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚛ú𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚊 𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚞𝚗𝚊𝚛 𝚑𝚞𝚎𝚟𝚘𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚌𝚑é, 𝚙𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚊 𝚢 𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚊, 𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚞𝚗𝚘𝚜 𝚌𝚞𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜.

𝙷𝚘𝚢, 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚗 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚞𝚎ñ𝚘, 𝚊𝚋𝚛í 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚘𝚓𝚘𝚜 𝚢 𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍í 𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚛𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚊, 𝚜𝚒𝚗 𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚎 𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚜í𝚊𝚜. 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚝é 𝚢 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝é 𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒ó𝚗 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚜 á𝚛𝚋𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚝í𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚜𝚘𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚕 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚟𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚍 𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚘. 𝙻𝚘𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚛é 𝚊 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚟é𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚕𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚣𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚜é 𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚘 𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚌é 𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚒ó𝚗 𝚊𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚕𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚏í𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚑𝚘𝚓𝚊 𝚖𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚚𝚞í𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚛𝚞𝚐𝚊𝚍𝚊. 𝙰𝚞𝚗 𝚜𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚊𝚌𝚒ó𝚗 𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚛í𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚌𝚘, 𝚊𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒é 𝚖á𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚜 𝚍í𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚕 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚙á𝚓𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚜 𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚜, 𝚢 𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚐í 𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚎 𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚜𝚘 𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚜𝚊𝚛 𝚍𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎, 𝚊𝚕 𝚏𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎 𝚎𝚍é𝚗 𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚒 𝚌𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚣𝚊, 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚜, 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚜, 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚜, 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚕𝚙𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚘𝚜 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚕 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚒ó𝚗 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚊 𝚊 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚕 𝚍í𝚊, 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊í𝚊𝚗 𝚍𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚘 𝚊 𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚊 𝚎𝚕 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚘 𝚢 𝚕𝚊 𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚎𝚍𝚊𝚍.

"𝙴𝚕 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚘 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚞 𝚛𝚊𝚣ó𝚗 𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚛", 𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚜é. 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚞é𝚜 𝚖𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚝é 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚊 𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚐𝚞í 𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚒 𝚍í𝚊.