GALAXY MOOD

Who called you to life? Where does your drawing come from? From which galaxy lost? When, why, are you coming? What theater, what scenes, what glow of the Pleistocene? Did you see the crash of milk and blood stamp your face with your name? Where have the roses gone, the nobility of defeat? Where is who invented things, the telescope, the stilt house? Where is who invented the wheel, the double basses and the trombones? Where is the one who tamed the flames, who measured the seasons? I will postpone any healthy conclusion until tomorrow, and I lock this beautiful asshole face of mine in my arms. curse!

When they were together she felt out of time. There was no longer any inconvenient past to hide, there was no future to think about and, for a moment, the present seemed like a sweet honeymoon embroidered between the meshes of space and time.

 

 

Just do it.
Wear that dress too tight.
Let your hair down.
Get up and dance.
Find reasons to laugh.
Make love.
Create something beautiful.
Speaks.
Recognize your worth.
Don’t apologize for your magic anymore and stop hiding your light.
Beloved. Forgive yourself.
Make room for the unexpected.
Stop waiting for the right time, do it now.
Ignore what people think of you.
Because in the end you will have to answer for all the things you didn’t say, the people you didn’t love, the things you didn’t do and the places you didn’t go.
Do it now.