Here you are now reading this paper of mine, while my body has been swallowed by the sea where eternal tranquility is. I am biased towards the fish of the depths when the light refracts and collides with the soft sand. I do not like the worms of the earth where darkness and humidity bring additional pain to death. That is why I gave my body to the water, the secret of eternal listening, and the embrace whose arms never close. I did not write my will, for there are no wills for those who have been let down in their lives except to wish that someone would take the initiative to adjust the discordant string. I have no wills to say, for I am merely a sparrow feather suspended in air that has not rested for a single moment. Then I could have landed on a tree and watched how a pear ripens on its mother’s chest, or landed on the shoulder of a man going to meet a woman who has made a vow in his heart to love her as a bird loves its wings while it flutters passing over a street whose passersby struggle. The crowd. I am just a woman who was let down in her life and came to think about retiring, as a famous musician retires at the height of his genius, due to a defect he senses is inevitably coming. I have no advice other than these words, so burn this paper and scatter it here, so that it may become a walking witness that points to me.