One Hundred Years of Solitude

hazy image of someone who
might have been his daughter.
The countless women he had
known on the desert of love
and who had spread his seed
all along the coast had left no
trace in his feelings. Most of
them had come into his room
in the dark and had left before
dawn, and on the following
day they were nothing but a
touch of fatigue in his bodily
memory. The only affection
that prevailed against time