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The fine line between day and night

I just found the line that divides day from night. As a child, when the distinctions without sticking and go and look into the small hours began just after dark, separating sleep from wakefulness was a natural process, how to eat or pee. For me, the night was the moment you stop thinking. Turning off the lights, natural and artificial, corresponded with the word "off" clearly imprinted in my brain. Sleep, sleep as long as I could and when My mother came to wake me I pretended to sleep again.

Now the margins were decidedly blurred. For me, the night is the time when I do not want to stop, except when I'm about to collapse. And 'the collection of dreams developed during the day, in rain and sun, while I bundle of thoughts on the run. Injustice wants any ideas or inspiration from the best journalist-writer, I come just when I'm lying on my bed without a sheet of paper or pen in hand. Like a whore with a suitcase in the morning every desire developed in a somewhat 'original run away from the sheets, leaving his lover to orgasm with a cigarette occasional one-off.

is why the night has a slow start, although it is always an end and that can vary in time but is knowingly to his feet. As this is sweet or not, depends on what you remember of hours earlier and from what I know about the future. No revival, however, it tastes better than the one that leaves a woman on the lips when you open your eyes.

Dragon Ball Z Bed Covers

Forgive the absence but I am on vacation. We meet in mid-September;)

First Death Anniversary Invite

France Au Revoir ...

The color red has a story to tell. In the youth in the streets, peelings in the blood of children in the cellars of welcoming Italy and France. Soon, years ago, I realized that I would have followed the scent.

Red is what you tip when your eye goes in search of the particular. It 's the woman who passes and Note no time, with the modesty of a child who hides behind the mother's skirt, or the one that whistles in an impertinent, preferring the evidence of passion to the subjugation of those who look with wonder. Red is the tip of the fire, the desire for revenge that goes flipping through a newspaper. The purest love, precious ruby \u200b\u200bwhich does not pass through the eye.

E 'in the same way the color of the cup that fills up, flashing his throat a drop at a time. The veins leaving flow and the heart and monitor the heats, but a red so you can not detach.