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It rains in the dry fields of any being that illuminates the night with those words were dropped from the eyes of someone who can speak with your eyes closed and his lips tight, losing in every scene that privacy no longer exists.
My thoughts can lose the trial, that memory hidden behind sheets of any listening leaves me the attachments to any appointment, who can call to talk about those beautiful verses that have been recorded in any writing.
The paragraphs that have left the hole needed in the blank sheet of life force those who do have to have their eyes on the lines that spell in a voice quietly feeling at every moment memories that tie him to some past that now increasingly hurt.
I have to learn to not so much attachment to material things, I begin to cry out to heaven my freedom whenever one of many around me had disappeared and never mind, is to leave those bags that weigh both the hypermarket in every corner, not ever coming back to recall them in spirit.
Way slowly, ando with an eye to the line delimiting heaven and earth, riding in the saddle that I think every time a thought comes through the door and let the seed that I have to analyze and understand that that's me.
Miguel José
We are all what we think we are chemical compounds that extends those experiences we want to leave starting, we forget that if we have left the imprint of pain, which pushed to an old car to start and be lost in the infinite always shines at dusk.
The Sun is fixed at that figure each afternoon in the heats of some pine trees that Recuna his first pineapples in the branches looming any piece of a river laden with crystalline water that produce the best fruits of every soul.
Now prendo the switch and the light disappears, the shadows nest again between the sheets that adorn a new night while travelling from the darkness until dawn, always hoping that those attachments han ido off some layers of dreams that will never forget I have left to sleep.
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