Este libro habla de las primeras veces que ya fueron, de lo que nunca volvera a suceder, del frio de mirar atras y ver demasiadas cosas, de la nostalgia de lo que hicimos y lo que no hicimos nunca. Y de como todo eso es verdad.Tambien habla de los quiza, de los mananas y del futuro como un hilillo de luz prometedora que tal vez se haga realidad de un fogonazo. O tal vez no.<>. Somos hijos del invierno, nacimos del frio de nuestro pasado, de los copos de dolor y angustia que nos han llovido. Hemos renacido en este amor sorpresa, en este amor misterio que nos dice al oido <>, que nos promete a la vez, de nuevo, la placidez del bosque y de la hoguera, la ambicion del cerezo en flor.ENGLISH DESCRIPTIONThis book speaks of those first times that have already happened, of what will never happen again, of the coldness of looking back and seeing too many things, of the nostalgia of what we did and what we never did. And how all of that is true. It also speaks of the maybes, of the tomorrows, and of the future as a thread of a promising light that may come true in a flash. Or maybe not."We will take the cold out of the definition of winter. December will burn and I will see it in your eyes." We are children of winter, we were born from the cold of our past, from the flakes of pain and anguish that have rained down on us. We have been reborn in this new love, in this mystery love that whispers in our "dare," that promises the calmness of the forest and of the bonfire, the ambition of the cherry tree in blossom.