Writing has brought me orders of all kinds: schemes for family members, poems for funerals of friends, gift texts for newborns, testimonies for politicians, speeches for the Three Kings… While ordering the papers I found a folder with texts made to a friend: you had to introduce them for the presidency of a national institution, and the situation was so difficult that I didn’t even know if I was going to leave. I prepared two texts: one for reading if I went out and the other for voting if I lost the vote, just in case. He took office, but it did not last long among those who love discord. When his greetings were told on the radio, I was on a street in Vitoria, sitting in the car, crying, writing myself, but listening to the words that I didn't do. We never talk about that text. I couldn't understand if I retired without saying anything wrong and even feeling nothing. But it's taken me 45 years to do Elizabeth Bishop's words. “It is clear that the art of loss is not difficult to learn, although it may have the effect of catastrophe.”