You were beside me, still sleeping. The day had invented you, but you hadn’t yet accepted your day’s invention, nor mine. You were still in another day. You were beside me, and I saw you, like the snow, asleep among the appearances. Time, without our help, invents houses, streets, trees… When you open your eyes we’ll walk, anew, among the hours and their inventions, and lingering among the appearances we’ll testify to time and its conjugations. We’ll open the doors of this day, and go into the unknown. – Octavio Paz