So many decisions ... hastily without considering a disastrous consequence only a single tile loose mud that splashed all, one person ruined ... All those laps
useless ... these returns to "ningunaparte" just on a whim, or cowardice, or pure and exclusive masochism ... to land in the same plateaus deserts ...
... All these words misused, misinterpreted, pompous and empty ... all those who luckily never said, they could not change anything ...
All those dreams ... that nest on the pillow, broken wings and the disfiguring scars, broken but very whole ... infinite in number and in scope ...
coexisting All these feelings ... incoherently in a harmonious chaos ... feeding on tears, smiles, looks ...
All such forward ... so little space confined, claustrophobic some, while others are infinite afraid to go out ... so messy, yet so prized by the alternation ...
All excuses ... not to do, to forgive the unforgivable, for passions to drain pools of quicksand where never going to get out for themselves ...
All illusions ... with crutches and apart, crawl, rearm slowly and very fast some other ... you have the scars they have and expect to sign all that will come ... will underpin with disappointment, because they are deeper and are rooted deep inside ...
All patches, colors, different fabrics, which I put together, that you are armed, that men and women put together ... we are like chameleons, the perfect ability to learn and implement "the art of pretending " ...
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