December, 20 degrees and a little bitterness.
The sun shines and the wind is spawning life rather pink and eyes full of hope, I'm loading my bag for a few moments of life I want to share. The homecoming. I love that phrase, is what I feel every time I go. My country is very small, damp and capricious. I believe there is nothing there Special to the common man. But to me, its streets, beaches and islands are ridiculously small compass essential.
I need as a poet of his muse.
The journey is long, too long. And just happen, it will go. We'll laugh, drink and make a lot of things unspeakable. We is me, this is another scribbler, and that some other people. It's memories and it's wrong. When your loved ones become memories is when we must make choices. My choice is made: long live the present. Panam, I'll be there.
Christmas: I do not always happen. But I can not say, or at least voice high. Do not like Christmas, it has become to be hip. And I have a little more conviction than a dead leaf, then I do not like being in the wind.
The future: it is dotted and enjoyable.
PS: This morning, on waking. My trusty steed was wrong. The night was rough and his side carries the stigma of uncontrolled shock. Dude, you so, I know you're scared and you're reading this message, leave a phone number, it would have been class.
The sun shines and the wind is spawning life rather pink and eyes full of hope, I'm loading my bag for a few moments of life I want to share. The homecoming. I love that phrase, is what I feel every time I go. My country is very small, damp and capricious. I believe there is nothing there Special to the common man. But to me, its streets, beaches and islands are ridiculously small compass essential.
I need as a poet of his muse.
The journey is long, too long. And just happen, it will go. We'll laugh, drink and make a lot of things unspeakable. We is me, this is another scribbler, and that some other people. It's memories and it's wrong. When your loved ones become memories is when we must make choices. My choice is made: long live the present. Panam, I'll be there.
Christmas: I do not always happen. But I can not say, or at least voice high. Do not like Christmas, it has become to be hip. And I have a little more conviction than a dead leaf, then I do not like being in the wind.
The future: it is dotted and enjoyable.
PS: This morning, on waking. My trusty steed was wrong. The night was rough and his side carries the stigma of uncontrolled shock. Dude, you so, I know you're scared and you're reading this message, leave a phone number, it would have been class.
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