Pleasures. Dots. Small, bright ones. Anarchically scattered. Shimmering. In your nights. Life is hung upon them. Pieces of land. Floating on the sea. Becoming lighthouses. For you to find the next joy.
Pleasures. Dots. Small, bright ones. Anarchically scattered. Shimmering. In your nights. Life is hung upon them. Pieces of land. Floating on the sea. Becoming lighthouses. For you to find the next joy.
Maybe. The only truth in this life is loss.
You’re on your own. They are looking for lines around you. You are indifferent to yours. You do not care about it to stand out. You want it to get away.

Egoism. Breathing the tenacity for victory asking to discover new limits in your will.
Égoisme. Que tu respires l’obstination pour la victoire réclamant à découvrir de nouvelles limites à ta volonté.
Underestimation. Hidden in desires. Of small. Dressed great. They fight. Self-illuminated. They strive to envelop them in shadow. Injustice called order. Cheap instincts. They do not quench their thirst. Opposite. At your source.
The first breath. You enjoy the sunrise. Disciplined repetition rules your days. You reciprocate. You share and give. You can feel blessed.
You hear. Her steps. Soft. They build crescents in the sand. Beautiful traces. Lost on her. Lucky. You got to see them.
Shield in the bad things.
Two-legged holidays. Slaughter. Sorrow spreads. False fasting. Brutality covers.
You are spreading dreams on the sand. Devotional siesta. Lulls fears to sleep. Kicks out shadows.