Many centuries ago, we learned the language of our masters. Though we couldn’t help wondering why so few of you bothered to learn ours.
Each one of us carries a different kind of sadness.
It’s a sweet smell that lingers, even in the rain.
When I was separated from Jacinto, I became very sad. If anyone tried to ride me, I would lie down until they went away. Losing Jacinto felt like losing my life.
Jacinto was filled with love. It made us beautiful.
Humans don’t know so much about love. It’s hard to be a master, and understand anything about love.