I dread the day I'll leave everything from the day I leave the dam yield. So now I'm out without too much problem, some splinters diffuse, two or three shots, some fine scratches. Penalties refurbished, smothered in inside. I have not denied, I have nothing hidden, I just managed to distance myself from thorns, back to me, sit and observe. Like a clenched fist, feel the pressure but does not yield.
"You can cry you know."
Really? I apprehended very early fatality, handled since my youngest age "what good", when I first understood that this was the mourning and the salt in the eyes was adding wounds.
Yet I doubt I often challenges the rough bark and shells. I thought I understood everything: You are born. We try to live. People die. That point, nothing else. Not enough to stir. This implacable fate has never undermined, making me actually to see more, do more. But then, sometimes this rule of life evaporate for a few moments and heart racing.
the moment the raft holds up, scoop it sometimes, but overall it holds ... I'm just waiting the perfect storm, which spared me until now.
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