How good it feels when my city rains, but mostly when I'm part of those sharp drops that are stuck without intention on the ghosts of people who dress up, some noble, others bitter, but after all ... ghosts.
I feel a little tired and those little beads of sweat that look in a slow and gentle on my face, trying to trace every inch of the factions, the twists and turns, sensations, perceptions, breathing resigned and my constant desire to want to be contrary.
Vices start to like lonely, longing move among them more consistent, but I find that the more times you want to be among them, the more I move away, the appliance, thus removing the subtle surprise when unexpectedly invade me, I can enjoy.
I wish I could take from the moment the time that belongs to enjoy like any of the details that I like, those people will live without charge, such we look and smile at them without the deepest sense of belonging and affection.
I like to get carried away by the movement of my pencil trying to slip into the rhythm of the melody now dream my ears, of such material is made available to the empty eternities of existence.
There is no lack of affection or away, there is a lack of loneliness, of motivating services within routines of the kind we believe we belong , or we belong to them. The same occurs when the feeling of wanting to belong but is not done this, who cares when the anguish of tick marks his pace without pause, giving me to understand that today was good it's time connect to business as usual, while I melt inside to create new strategies to free myself from there.
That makes me happy, it feels good, I hope you remember soon and do not forget me as soon as you close your eyes on tonight ...
Carolina Moreno.
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