Door - Short story of love - Reflections of life and thoughts
Bazaar of wishes that have not yet been cherished by anyone.
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My mind tattooed by your memory I directed by trails end. I turn back, I'm looking for another dream, I pursue it and give back of face to face with your door. Always closed and without lever, old and full of scratches, Although solid and resistant emotions that try to Rob our past hidden inside.

Drawing one touch more, evoking you, delicate as a feather so that seizes a Tickle my belly, stretching my body, rising. At the top is your Breeze, shaking me. I get to see you among the clouds and you draw a conciliatory smile liquidating my grief immediately. Is the fullness that invades me then slowly drown in my own ocean of despair. Deep and cold. I dialed my breath, which just leaves escape the cries of my bowels.

El tiempo me arrastra a la reflexión desierta. Mi instinto de supervivencia me sobrepone a tu vacío. I build a barge of banal illusions that medium sink already from the beginning. My conscience impels the tattered clothes, that by way of sailing it directed me heading to a new dream. And I wish that takes me farther away from what I've managed to get so far. But I know that I will end up scratching the worn wood of your door again, hoping to revive you.