Insomnio

Insomnio
𝙾𝚝𝚛𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚣 𝚕𝚊 𝚕𝚞𝚗𝚊, 𝚘𝚝𝚛𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚣 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚘. 𝙽𝚘 𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚊 𝚎𝚕 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝚎𝚕 𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚘. 𝙾𝚝𝚛𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚣 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚗 𝚟𝚊𝚌í𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚕í𝚊.

𝙻𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚊𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚓𝚘𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚊 𝚢 𝚗𝚘 𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚓𝚘.
𝙴𝚜𝚝𝚊 𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚜 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚎𝚕 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚊 𝚢 𝚖𝚎 𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚊.

𝙰𝚕𝚖𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚜𝚊 ¿𝚀𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚒 𝚟𝚊𝚌𝚒́𝚘? ¿𝚀𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚒 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚍é𝚗? ¿𝚀𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚒 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚘?¿𝙼𝚒 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚊? ¿𝙲𝚞á́𝚕 𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚒 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚎𝚣𝚊? 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚣𝚊.

𝚀𝚞𝚒𝚣á́𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚟𝚊𝚛í𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚞 𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚚𝚞𝚎, 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚊 𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚏𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚎𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚕𝚘 𝚘𝚜𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚎𝚐𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚞 𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚊.

𝚃𝚊𝚕 𝚟𝚎𝚣 𝚞𝚗𝚘𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚕 𝚘𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚐𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚊 𝚢𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜, 𝚝𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚖𝚊ñ𝚊𝚗𝚊 𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚊 𝚜𝚒 𝚖𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚑𝚎.