WALK INSIDE

I'll make room for you next to me.
Tonight I'm really strong,
tonight I'm really invincible,
tonight - not - it's - me.
I make room for you next to me, and inside my heart. 
What a big space you have,
you take up almost all of it. 
I'm happy when I think about it, and I tell everyone a little
because my heart is almost all yours.
The sauce I made, 
the red apples I bought are all yours. 
The scent of chocolate donut is all yours. 
I am a bit all yours.
I make room for you next to me, and tonight no one can beat me,
if in a low voice,
almost in silence
I tell you that you are my love
and you are my love
and you are love
love,
what I feel when I look at you.

LIFE IS A SEA

I was by the sea today and I started thinking.

I thought that the sea is a bit like life don't you think? Sometimes calm, sometimes stormy, there are those times when it is stormy and those times it gives peace. There are those times when it is illuminated by the sun and other times when the darkness surrounds it, leaving no room for light.

Life is just that. Never constant, never perfect, not always calm, not always stormy, we don't always find the light and we don't always live in the dark.

You realize that there are days that are different from others, experiences stronger than others, there are people who enter our life and others who walk on the shore because they are afraid of getting wet.

We are afraid of the depth of the sea as we are afraid of facing certain immense experiences that life puts before us.

I looked at the sea and I understood. I simply understood that there are waves that are stronger than others.

I DIED ONCE

I wandered through a fantasy forest.
Blue branches, yellow barks, purple grasses, star gourds.
My one second dream.
Those who keep their hats even at night.
The thieves of gods.
Tears without taste.
Drinking.
I don’t protect myself with the sacred.
My mantle is made of mountains, bright rocks, forests that I don’t know.
Human journeys first were made by dogs.
Flora is like a colored texture around the inky black of my path.
I was a happy child and I was making bouquets of flowers.
Now I collect stones to consolidate my torn chest.
I died once where I haven’t walked yet.
I was taken without my permission.
Collected by an ogre they didn’t warn me about.
It wasn’t his garden, and I hadn’t crossed over.
Maybe my being a doll brought him closer.
Perhaps beauty sometimes brings death.

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