I miss the places where I've never been, the streets, where those wander, who don't understand my language; the picture landscapes from the books, the odors of the stalls which I do not know and the parks with old trees, where someone is feeding the birds. I'm afraid no one understands me, but I ever so miss the places where I've never been because somewhere in one of the windows, in one of the houses I've never seen you are in...