It was a beginning, and the beginning of an end. A joyful, spacious, prosperous place, a gate to a sun whose pulse is light, and whose valve is the river of Eve, and another blonde, in whose paths memories shone, and stories disappeared among its catacombs, and words got lost in its eyes, and glory hid among its deaf stones, so I throbbed with the groan of tears: “Toledo” endured as much as it was patient, and remained a witness forever, and despite all the crowding, it is still calm and peaceful, and it has an immortal Andalusian story in the heart.