Now I raise my camera to the sky, a strange, confusing, but delicious box is drawn for my eyes only, or believe themselves good, because maybe there is another person who also boost your look to the sky and dares to raise a number of thoughts that motivated to sit a bit and falling asleep while wallowing in their sweet words and sunset.
Sweet rhythms fused with tantalizing tangos, provocative, tender, bitter, light, dark, are you doing in my effect, I give life, destroy me, trample on me, but then I rebuild, mold me, I feel fine form and force clear, it feels different, new omens, I see that coming a new reason to smile, to fly, strong coloring yellow day, even the most obscure.
I still have to smile, though not all is said, even I have reason to dream, still want to build, even I learn to fly, I still want to learn to dance, even I do like the people around me did not see it, and if they see it, does it matter? even want to sit under a tree branch to read their thoughts, theirs, everyone, mine, my books, those butterflies that are hidden candy to find them and treasure to myself.
They have a continuous flight, demarcate the ways forward, supporting the wings who are behind them, mine, those I'm just starting to build with the firm intention not to be breaking down, not to be robbed by instant sighs of pleasure. These butterflies come out tender, if a sigh escape, but now these are different, they are directed towards them, for them, carry a new art, a presence accomplice dream, you want ....
Dancing to "The Sickness" I am, this is a state that does little to explain with a look and a light flight to a friend recently, the Delirium Tremens, although I know that this time if I stopped at a fixed and stable, concrete, solid enough to move on and write a story in the recipient's company magic words.
A Volar.
Carolina Moreno
