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Dream 8913

The colors of a bohemian life disappear when it’s not allowed to be free. Too bad I can’t keep my head still when I place it on my pillow. I want to give myself naked to the art of your hands with paint, almost transparent sheets painted a grayish blue stuck to my skin by the artificial air. At a time between the past, present and future in which I feel pleasure to live. Incredible jumps of joy for living to the hand of your existence as sweet as the song of my favorite bird. With poetry tangled in my tongue when we debate who loves the other more. And with whispers in the language that only we understand for living every second under a rainbow with angels who bless us. But I can’t let go of my torment. If all my pain was attached to my writings instead of my heart, everything would be easier...

October 17, 2017.

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