's like living away from the dimension to which you belong, where every serenade of love becomes a sacrificial part. If you reach a predetermined goal was simple I would not be here ... I would not be here looking for an answer.
Instead we are sitting on an uncomfortable chair porch to think. Instead, while the rest of the world lives and breathes and thinks of death, to ask the rest of property because of this.
The goal, the goal: the things that I have always denied in life.
Those enemies that are devastating people's dreams ...
Not to mention the sky clear, with clouds and the swallows, the angels and the tears never cried.
Angels could flood the earth with her tears, but rather repress anger, as we all do.
During these endless minutes each key has become my friend, every letter, every space ...
Maybe write some reflections and improvise the "philosophy of the poor" is just a way to hide. Hide behind the eye of the reader. Likely to blame (or merit) and songs, the music, the sweet melodies of the world revolves around himself and lots more.
Someone said that if he could make the world so pure and strange as the things he saw, I would put the mirror in front of him.
Tu.
Sometimes it seems as if all the people around me were dying. I'm afraid to close my eyes. O life, hanging by a thread are.
Every detail of no value for us: one day is less than a second, living as if "tomorrow" was a divine guarantee.
The truth (there?) Is that I know I can believe in what I think.
Every person is like a drop in a thunderstorm nothing, from my point of view, like a leaf, a petal, like a flower.
sitting here, alone. The desire to learn incredible new dimensions, new experiences and who knows what.
's like living away from everything and everyone.
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