Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Then, only of the demi-rêves

This life is not his own. It always reach the same conclusion. Yet, nothing is missing, there are flowers in all corners: labour, good dinners, parties, friends, free time and outside, the bells Gin cotton caring hours. This month of December in the Sun, Christmas coming quietly.

All is well, is in the right place. Even colds do not last long. The little cat came back, he looks at ease in the Pocket handkerchief, as if it had always lived there. It is full of all ideas, it would seem, about cats who do not like homes. There is happy everywhere provided on life and plays.

No, really, not what to complain. Indeed it is not complaining. It's just to be the life of another, this life. There is something, a precarious in it all. Not made to last thing, it is difficult to explain. It is clear that she argues, it goes to somewhere. She not only knows where.

Then she makes decisions, its way to white in color. Small, to continue to work towards a goal, tack without turning in circles. Launch balls to see where they fall. Create movement without giving in to panic, after all, it's like this it survives a fall in the open sea. Small decisions, therefore, and then, a large: the horizon refuses to show? So be good, will not wait to make. It will draw an itself, and that is all.

Indeed, it is a head kick which was not really a great trip. Some things, it is unclear why keep their form of dream for many years and suddenly this is with a natural confounding, resolution is taken to finally rub them to reality. No, this decision did not have the brightness of head shots: is that the Green point that emerges from a very long time of germination. A seed that thrives to have finally found his land.

Its horizon to it, it is this grand voyage, now. Long, perilous as is always the case when a great dream: with the risk, of course, the shattered.

From only, others were air find it bizarre. She stands up, it goes without saying, but it is true that it looks like a beautiful picture with dust on it, its tip. It's not completely sharp. Yet, it is crazy that she is happy, no doubt about it. But perhaps after all that they the feel, the other, the grief of the beautiful things it decides finally to undertake alone, without a better option.

Obviously that is not like that she imagined him, his trip to the long course. Of course that lacks a soul sister history and shared enthusiasm. Of course that it the measure, this abyssal loneliness there will be to prepare for this great day with anyone. It is almost painful, this joy immense that it must simply reverse it to infinity, this joy never that meeting its ECHO, in part from time to time, politely attentive ear of a friend. Whenever she speaks, she sees his energy flowing into the vacuum. It would be so much better if it had run against someone.

A piece of Sun that radiates for himself, it's a bit of the mess. She knows.

Then it is it, simply it. It may well be all evil in the world to create movement, it must be satisfied for the moment to realize his dreams at half. The absence of another in this life it does not yet quite like his, it is simply that the problem. In this life, the framework is very nice, but everything is a little cut in two.

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