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archaron forgotten, but could not. Before opening the door I saw that in that place could not be anything or anyone else. I was too full of emptiness. Climbed to the roof, occupied every shelf, outlined a new hole in your mattress. And, despite costing you accept it, with the passage of time and you will become final permissibly submissive, almost afraid of the rituals of farewell.

is why in a few months you rather close your eyes until you reach a safe place for the health of your memory and begin to assimilate. That is why in a few months you rather write a letter of forgiveness for your dreams past rather than sit at tedious reality: what you carry, will serve to grow, laugh, vorevolver to dream, lose ideas again. But in your case rather not leave anything, the walls are not impregnate you. The vacuum will always be stronger.

The line: Not infrequently I said goodbye, I know the heartbreaking hour of parting - Friedrich Nietzsche

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girded the loop of his coat to fit that feeling its forms, you need to feel the warmth that only the good things pass. The deciduous watched her with curiosity to go against the grain. In his meeting failed to take swift crack the enigma of her smile etched in every sip of skin.

The eclipse of needles at the clock showed dozens of pedestrians on the street. Dwarfed by the sound of their own thoughts. Sentenced to wear a dream to scratch the floor. Wounded in the depths of their routines for that almost levitated as he touched Levemirbody wet sidewalks in their wake. Some even parked their infinite burden of grief for a moment to contemplate better. His image was a sigh of relief from the smoke of the city.

continued his walk with shouts horns hidden in narcotics, people watching the rows of gray to halfway between pity and compassion. They were so far from it ... The lights blink of an embrace dedicated changing neon.

And is that the confession was made to walk well worth a look of happiness around. Rush, perpetual traffic jams, anguish was not contagious ...

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to stand ended with finding a nearby wall on which to support the weight of his body and his hopes dashed.

trust is what is ephemeral existence in the memory of a bird of passage ... then forget the sketches of poems written between blots years ago:

And so, it might in an afternoon

of still and watch the ground screaming

sand pockets and a tenuous balancing

to cut surplus names in your mind

you review my letter and smile for you with little desire

casi

to meet and shake your bags

past routines while the needles fall off and the brightness of glass that blurs

while stroking away that old guitar while cooing

future with a slight look

I tired to drive out the darkness of the absent

as did so many hours and make more tomorrow

without knowing that the silence of the weak

while, I completely consume

;

... Those were evenings clocks stopped and silenced voices to the beat of a pendulum. She had reCongress to review your home and each time, he erased his memories, snatching beats present. And without a place most dear in the past, hardly retain his place in the future may be too uncertain.

The sentence: Death does not come with old age but with forgetting - Gabriel García Márquez

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Not again. Definitely, there are routines that tie will never know. Again, the nine light echoes that announce when they could not get up alone. The noise had to accompany them. And now the third week. And this will twenty-one headaches. The floor vibrates. The glass door to wood scratch. And patience. It's more than a combined voice monotonous and mechanical movements sweeping every stone trying to stand stoically. Is torture. Can not live. Do not let them. Eight hours of shafts without holes, destruction of war in peacetime superficial.

machines riddled their minds, twist every thought. Each hit a beatone step, one syllable incomplete. His reflexes are stealthy surprise: at this point waiting for an image of themselves more robotic. I no longer remember what it tastes like silence. They wonder if kids will laugh with that tinkle of May fair which harmonized the afternoons when the tremor disappears gives life to the walls. Impatiently await a break of oxygen in mid air and dust contaminated by delusions. In the expected fall apart the last threads of sanity

And not just run away from that quiet place. So do the carriers of luggage without a return ticket. Unable to bear one more hammer blow. They can not afford another attack on normal. Reduced pack life