Hands sounds. Cuddly people are asking. Mismatch swear. Hate easily. In herds swim. Dressed the right of the mass. Faithful. Baptize guilt. Reaping life. Watered sorrows. Conviction. Empty dream. Lustrate hope.
Hands sounds. Cuddly people are asking. Mismatch swear. Hate easily. In herds swim. Dressed the right of the mass. Faithful. Baptize guilt. Reaping life. Watered sorrows. Conviction. Empty dream. Lustrate hope.
You look backwards or forward. A smile decorates your New Year.
Plans in words. Journeys. They dazzle the pictures around you. They hide their ugliness. You travel. Each proposal builds a bridge. The mission. A shining Crown. That calms. Every time you copy with your wars.
Weeks of traumas. Randomly dropped. On you. They exhaust you. You find patience. It looks like resurrection.
There is a day that does not belong to a week. The time is lost. You, egotistically, change the name of the day. Even if for the rest of the people it’s Monday. You know. You ask the day to know, too.
Side by side. You share. You let yourself for her to lean on you. You wonder. How time flies without her.
You stand near you. Listening. Breath, words, movement. You see. You learn who you are. It’s not an exercise. It is life.

Living legends. Being fallen in blue. They earn the sunrises flying near them. They plunge into mortal time. They play with the limits of it. Which are borders for those who walk on earth. A challenge for them, on the other hand. They wear their wings. They embrace. They are doomed angels. To an end that seeks to steal their glory.
Thinking is stored. Double faced. Precious. A piece of yours. The dream is vivid. Of each day’s motive.
Traveler. Fearless. Distances covered. It brings you closer. Offering life from the source. The Will.