Evening sun

How many times my reason has cried to heaven "I get it!"?

the same times, so low, my heart laughs and looks at him with eyes funny ... sometimes ironic.

I can not help getting wet with rain, I will not spare the ash from the volcano, the warmth of galloping horses, the pores in the intensity.

I do not want my paper wings, but sometimes the park against the wall as my cello, looking at me impatiently waiting to sing with him.

I say no, yet, to be an adult, that my eyes no longer shine, to condition your stadiums, but think that the air that I breathe is mine and I of him.

I keep dancing on the inside even when you're by my side, I sometimes imagine well enough and I love you, our ghost still tends the bed, making coffee ... laughing at night. Inspired the imagination of my back so your hands do not cry anymore.

The skies will remain blue, my mind still yelling at the clouds or from clouds (sometimes) and my heart will go screaming into thinking it's her boss.

Continue to prepare backpack and taking trips out and in, in which more than meet, I look forward, build, take off the definitions, hurt me, make me whole.

If it matches my heartbeat will be as welcome as the birds in the morning and sunset orange sun, you will be loved, cared for tenderly [image inevitable toast with dulce de leche in the afternoon], will be free ...

I'll take the apple tree gives me, the smiles of those who love me and touch and, if the sun will allow me, beating and beating die ...

At some point understand why my head that screams screams ...



V.



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