My heart does not reconcile with the climates and I am caught in a summer rain.
The wandering heart in me and the wrath of words...
Here again my cheeks are flushed and I am the present of a shameful and innocent and fragile dream.
The dreams are wrapped in my heart.
My embarrassment and sadness hidden in my yesterday and my presence in the day and the one that went through my heart when it was the equivalent of tomorrow.
Your stories in a spiral.
Your feelings and years, while his face is also familiar.
The fire in my back, the mountain next to me, my best man, and on my left, love and my blue dress, and my mullet heart, and the beauties that I vouch for, and I believe every word like a mullet, even if I never have a fish memory.
There are striking signs in my world and in my day, that I am sad and dissident, and I believe that a world without myself will have no taste.
Yet I have no taste here today and yesterday and.
I can't touch tomorrow already because it is so innocent and spotless that my dreams and the artist inside me and the mise en scene outside of me are butterflies fluttering in my heart and my dreams and dead impulses that I remember in the flower garden.
While the meaning of humanity is love and goodwill.
Very blessed if they do.
How empty is the stall of wandering travelers and transparent hearts, maybe I should go to the market, fill my way and fill kilos of conversation and happiness in my net and then pour it over the universe.
The market is away.
Yesterday is broken.
I am angry today.
My soul and my heart and my body and my mind that I intend to mend in my tomorrow.
When did I break into a thousand pieces and why are my eyes that can't sleep, my dear?
Autumn pass.
The emphasis on the heart.
Words and labels that come to my ears when it is the product of loneliness.
How can a person love himself to those hypocritical shadows while sinking even in his innocent world where he keeps his side with good intentions?
My Lord, on whom I lean my head, and then my mother and my heart on my tongue, while my head is on the way, without falling forward.
The afternoon of a locked day and the words that escaped from the drawer of my heart, and the quintessence of love.
If I'm sad, I'm sorry.
My soul is crisp.
My yesterday is blurred.
My future is bright.
And I present my inner voice like a beacon even in the dimly lit streets, and passers-by empty words, shouts and sarcastic faces, I must not have believed that I was hit even by the people I love, and I can still touch whoever is near me and far away from me and I lay on the page without identity problems and my heart shines with my eyes. While the invitation of a peace hidden in the pen has reached my heart, my day and my memory.
An epic day and lifetime.
The offended disposition of yesterday that I was pending.
My God, who bestows a colossal mercy, and with my fringed heart, I look out from the whiteness on which I lay like a bird and look like a bird, and here I am, opening wings with my words and love, maybe I am the only one who circumambulates the universe with his soul, that's why I want to be matched with people and I share my journey with everyone, wherever they are and no one is on my face. The one who laughs and makes fun of me behind my back does not touch my soul anymore, I read my inner voice and external voice, while I have already passed from the possessions of the world thanks to the communication I have with my Lord and the spiritual world.
Holy life.
If there is a rule, live.
My words when I'm out of theory and the flutter on my left and around the corner where I get stuck every time I say a wish, and a series of events that are good for my mood when I was my best man, and I kept my dreams and hopes deep inside with my crumpled and improvised inner voice.
