(Spitzweg The Poor Poet-) Every passionate gesture goes low when there is inability to share. There are tormenting things, that the other can not understand, cruel facts are that the other can not understand or avoid, in this, I feel sad way of life. Weeping
I confessed my weaknesses and suffers I have shown in the hope of hunting, fighting against my character, I tried the union, the balance, but time has shown me how hard everything wilt faced with the impossibility of sharing.
There are marriages that have reached a certain brightness, a transparency that makes dialogue easy, fluid, perhaps the experiences in these pairs will be similar so it is easy to understand. Other couples however, have conquered the peak of the passions, the adventures, they are immune from boredom, recalcitrant in the face of monotony, but with something different, diametrically opposed. What haunts them is the difficulty deaf their behavior. How can, for example, a man who has lived without emotional tears, without injustice free, get to understand who has suffered? It 's like talking on either side of bulletproof glass.
disillusioned note my building sand, the commitment of these years, caution in the use of words, the determination to continue, some pot is broken and recomposed, sometimes yield to melancholy, or look out glass people pass without doing anything, without moving, without reacting. But if at times, someone stopped thinking, stopped on their thoughts, even if they do evil, hear his voice, rather than flee. The secret lies in silence. And then you might understand, even if remotely, because the poets are turning to the Moon, while the Christian God We seek the right phrase or dispel the hatred, you grasp the abstract for more concrete. We are so flawed that we should spend more time under a sky instead of beneath the shingles of a bar.
When humor so black, I like to write and look at the trees outside the window, a time walking alone in the woods at night ... alone ... With the desire to feel free or call it quits. Today I continue in my efforts, in consonance and dissonance of my affections, to admit in the pain in my intimacy with veiled eyes. And in the quiet nights, I see the echo of a brainless laughing uncontrollably or the right message delivered to the wrong person. It all fades away, a meaningless caress, an embrace melts and becomes aware of the futility of some reports and understand why two people try, they feel two friends, two friends are seen. It always seeks his fellow man.
The lesson of life did not learn anything, because in the end I love or hate, but balance! I hate the antics of a silly jokes or biting a man refused. I love the smiles, the innocence of children and the starry nights, contempt stains on the clothes and the flaunting of sex, I love the swallows in spring, and rosebuds. I abhor those who pretend to have understood and those who believe to lie well, I love the humility of a guilty person who asks for forgiveness, the tears of those who hate cry several times the same fault and I love the tears of those who suffer wedged into their penis.
And I love my childish outbursts, little excitement, the adrenaline of nothing, as when children see the bubbles in the air and go crazy with joy, a joy to poor, honest. And I condemn those who break my dreams, who makes me the moral and kill the first enemy he encounters on the street. And I love life because of its brevity and its imperfection. And even if I ruin the solitude, I am happier when I am alone. Why I'm satisfied with little. The pages of a book, the white of my diary. And the story to add.
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