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I prefer the crazy ones,
those who look at the sky
with stars on their chests
and a thousand stories in flight.
The sensitive, deep souls,
who feel the echo of the wind,
who embrace the full moon
on nights of pure lament.
The naïve ones who laugh,
with their skin-deep laughter,
building castles
in a world without paper.
The dreamers who dance
in a sea of illusions,
with their bare feet,
writing a thousand songs.
I keep the broken ones,
those whose souls are wounded,
those who bleed melancholy
for a love that can't be forgotten.