As are the questions and answers and are created in the dark ...
So you can not make new songs? Well, what do we sing?
So you do not know what is right or wrong? Ready to run the first shot. As Olympic runners, as the coward of the troops. Again resting on your knees. Close look at the land there and see familiar territory no? Where have you been all his time around here?. Not that you can do and what not about me. Always the same comparisons. No kiss that tape. And where were you? Where have you been?
Today I say "how beautiful the world" even in its worst miseries. People look to the eyes is wonderful. See that there is something else that filters through manners. There are people who knew only the final greeting. There are others who have arrived and not even know that I know. And there are tall trees, overlooking the street, many more questions. Less
guitarists, less grassland, but the low background voices, cold hands and records of singers of the past. Not if you listen. Leave me with one hand on the air as he greets a glancing blow, not knowing if fired or protocol. Let me hold your hand gently. Is a silk, a rare tickle. Do not collide with it all the time. It is unknown as are the chances that they do not want to end up in the moment when the lights go out. Sometimes just getting there.
When is that everything is stored inside one? I remember there was a time I remember something that happened and it was extraordinary. I can not tell you dates and situations. Not even know how to start a day there, going on. Now I'm dry. Me is just the reflection. That if I would like, see? That yes. Among much dispersion, some direction of desired to a single point.
I do not perspire hands. I do not get nervous about speak to anyone. There is something innocent that was gushing warm days that were staining and smell in the air that everything, absolutely everything, is very close.
there are corners in time that hurt the ears, pressure there. It happens in every corner. Ever hear a stifled cry all the voices I keep inside me and I let go of what I hear tell from the inside.
And the fall is not verbose. Fall is usually all that is on the shelf and there will also be good feelings. Sometimes one is immune as a generic. Without specificity.
And there, when everything in plunged into the confusion, the word back from the ashes to show the open roads of lights, the word like a knife in the fog. Poetry is
bottle castaway alone on the sea but more massive. It is the smaller bottle. And it always comes. Thousand years of poetry from you in a sea of \u200b\u200bloneliness.
compassion and repentance. Two places that lead us to the saddest of ourselves. Perhaps because goodbye means without love we realize sometimes, no? As if it was when he wants and let two people looking as if it were known.
I can not reveal the whole truth because I do not know, but there if a glass through which I look. I leave it there the words you do what you want with it.
same, having been there, to us, who walk along the edge of us who come to tell of the sadness one that does not know ...
Let them come to tell others the cold, cold world.
Heat shelters who is admitted in the heart, is a flame that becomes reciprocal and huge. I do not live yet but I remember. The love of the winter day slips through the cracks, where until yesterday, streamed in the wind.
I want to thank you for that. No more room for forgiveness and guilt. I hope you get a point like an arrow from the sky. An arrow unforeseen break in pieces the glass of your eyes and finally born clean look of pain. Accompanied
air to breathe. Serena in her time and place. Hermosa.
Photo: Sanny as Captain for "Friday's Girls"
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