I will bow down to the time: a woolen ball that tumbles from intermingled threads. At the bottom of the hill, I will read very long words that are not often spoken until Sunday. Then I will rest.
smiling too much it is the thought that counts grounding the ideal we will say things too many behind closed doors (and the sun continues)
The beginning of the end
since the beginning of the day.
The end of the beginning
everything that no longer exists
a trembling beauty
frozen in the puddles
To have a feast at arm's length, right there in front of you, the rich colors, the promise of flavors, then raising your eyes and seeing the sword of Damocles. You only have to reach out, but you withdraw your hand, you prefer hunger.
Seeking every day, in every second, the perfection of the world (one can find it, one day at a time)