There are stories that are told without words. Are told through gestures, glances and reactions. They are our substrate-Conscious. E 'shadow nasconta and faint that accompanies us.
There is one thing to be sure, the rest is a mixture of Fate and Destiny and Free Will. A mixture evolving explosive. And there's this constant veiled and loneliness, with a hint of forgetfulness, the light step and small, that takes me. There are the following Sunday, a mixture of remembrance and abandonment, and intense red wine and smoke on a piece of Morocco in a room that still smells of paint and powder boxes. And loud music, shot out from under my fingers, mayonnaise past, present and future. Need. This laptop came to an apparent need, necessary tool and then part of me. Day and night. No, I will never give up all this, it is not enough for all the love that I can. Do not ask me more than I can give. Loose cannon in a field of Squash. I esssere all, the point is to go down the same wave, with parallel courses, or we lose or we face. And we get hurt, man of fortune. Do you want a femme fatale at the foot of the bed? Yes, yes, I am too, but I could be your worst hangover in the morning, in which the stomach splits on the toilet. Are you willing to risk? We are children who discover new games and we have, from time to time, to learn new rules. We must come to terms with ourselves a bit 'more sincerely. It would be a tragedy if it had to make 2 + 2 3, just to know, and take the appropriate measures. Flexibility. Curiosity, for everything that ends there is another one that starts, it is inevitable, so why be so afraid of change? What then, finally, it is often all there, not being able to accept to become something other than that being ourselves we are used to. It is with regret coming to consciousness, the inevitability of certain events, certain streets, then something inexplicable which tells us that it's time to catch trains divesri. Although painful scar over time.
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