Si, time it has continued and we passed. Time, like a child holding hands and looking back ...
With so little can a man be happy, he thought. Not even a kiss. With so little. The cup of tea made with a minimum liturgy, an old perfume. Yes, almost anything ...
One night, one of those nights that happy life, the heart forgets his doubts and complaints, they look at the stars which lights an altar, inviting us to pray that the moon, as host holy slowly rises over the waves.
Children do well not to speak leave it in your corner blurred, as hopscotch, do not betray it. Campus, watermelons from ear to ear, nap, conch shell horns out in the sun.
was the joyful suffering, as it scratched the itch, bleed but you like at once.
you young Christian in the structure, reduced to no more than a shell of a turtle where you go stretching and positioning to fill. But if you're not a rabbit and a turtle, it is clear that you're uncomfortable. Turtles, as the great god Pan is dead, and society is a blind mother who insists on putting rabbits in the brace of turtles.
always as if the words and time were mismatched, as if what he should say it was no longer appropriate, or it will be a day or I'll miss you, and nothing can be said.
But do not give in to goodness. Look , feel sorry when you have not done wrong, that horrible and damned lazy, you know lose the right to choose each morning to your suit and your whistle and your book to read, no never that. The eyes are ahead of the face, my dear, not your fault if I am a bit your shadow, your echo, if the boat can not walk without creasing.
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