abstract of a story (Rosanna's not you) on this stupid
Today you showed me the ring with a golden circle. You did it on purpose, and you were also quite sincere when you said: "I am happy to see you again." Then you put his left hand on the bar and broke it held tense, as if to underline the status of bitterness. I ignore it, some things do not affect me since high school and I stopped for quite a while with the competition. I lock myself in defense and limited the damage of your ambush is your revenge and grant you the pleasure. They say it starts Friday, May 7, 2010
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dall'anulare left a vein that goes straight to the heart. The belief dates back to the Romans, who were convinced that in this vein flowed feelings. Not having the gold available to the left ring wrapped with iron, so that the groom, forever, could secure the loyalty of his wife.
What is, what is served, what I will need it tomorrow act of faith. Maybe it will help me to play better cards, and to defend the missile defense system to intercept nuclear missiles. I look and I think about it, there must be a port, a toilet, a remote place outside or inside the mind of the world where a gorge spit forever. Yet there is nothing that resembles those pieces of dough soaked in acid and red wine, there is a fragment of earth or lumps of powder to blow it right.
No, there's nothing left of us. Not even the taste of
pick up the pieces. What is, what is served, what I will need it tomorrow act of faith. Maybe it will help me to play better cards, and to defend the missile defense system to intercept nuclear missiles. I look and I think about it, there must be a port, a toilet, a remote place outside or inside the mind of the world where a gorge spit forever. Yet there is nothing that resembles those pieces of dough soaked in acid and red wine, there is a fragment of earth or lumps of powder to blow it right.
No, there's nothing left of us. Not even the taste of
But instead there is everything. There is a thought that is in the basin of dirty laundry or rather in the coffee every morning during rush hour. There is a thought every time I look around and I am only the fourth case of the supermarket.
At school the teachers taught us love, but we did better in the after-school care. There was close to traffic and not touching the day that he flew away like soap bubbles. The tears were a liquid that looked his way out, and tears were a boat that always tinkered its port.
And this is the 'abstract
of this story, odd sock in the basket of dirty laundry. The rest fades into the centrifuge and diligent begs forgiveness.
At school the teachers taught us love, but we did better in the after-school care. There was close to traffic and not touching the day that he flew away like soap bubbles. The tears were a liquid that looked his way out, and tears were a boat that always tinkered its port.
And this is the 'abstract
of this story, odd sock in the basket of dirty laundry. The rest fades into the centrifuge and diligent begs forgiveness.
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