Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Sheet Music For Empty Frames By Ne-yo

to GjiUoIA MIA !!!!!! if someone steals a flower for you ...


I do not write because they do not cast are more 'capable
life gives you a model in his own image and likeness,
I waited a few days for you to fade ... what ???!!! So
it says "this thing here but I've never believed the mica" as Claudia would say ..
It never fades, it is not possible if you have any feelings.
Life takes and gives? No, life just gets!
Also known more equally and 'his claim when one day you ask him to wait a moment.
E 'GijuoiA then leaving all the words and the considerations that you have expressed violently and do a good job, and why it is so few, no one can grasp the meaning!
Why is there a way?
Maybe a 'expectations?
but what?
hear "please"?
hear "thank you"?
be told you're special?
hear you are strong, for you I do not know how I do it?
NO SAH!!
expectancy there is the illusion of depth in which we are born not to choke!
awareness that everyone thinks of his cock every time.
The awareness that there is awareness, but only one life, you live through joy and forth between a fleeting and too short, a nostalgia that is not filled, a sadness that makes you gape and shrug .
It means that we are simply living our lives Gjiuoia?
All rise ... after the climb a climb that takes you even greater still higher ...

.. in love with Sarah _Marì

Thursday, February 10, 2011

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Thought of the evening ...


"To what end there, if I were all contained in myself?
If all else perished and he remained, I should still continue to be; and, if all else persisted and he was annihilated, the universe would be alien to me, I do not seem to be a part.
My love for Linton is like the foliage of the woods: time will transform I'm sure, as winter changes the trees.
But my love for Heathcliff resembles the hidden rocks and immutable source of little visible delight, but necessary.
I am he, he is always, always in my mind, not as a pleasure, as I'm not always a pleasure for me, but as my own being. "


Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights

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ARRANGE FLOWERS

_marì