Insomnia's blog

"Wait I was at the café to get a cola drink or else to hurt stomacu CAFA, and tantalum with straw bedding is aurolacii Numa blog and the union flour is flour that can take the girl by the window and then something you see up there ... "- someone tells me.

(After reading what I wrote is correct, "the window screaming" no "on glass"! Not change. Sic!)

Last day of winter, first day of spring. At night it will change the time, sleep less. Less?? Every year we announced the news at night we sleep less. I do not understand why. Well I just as much a sleep. No, even more than I do in spite of time that goes!

The first day of the year when out walking with his shirt pulled in the pants, in solidarity with the 20 degrees outside. As warm air and gray down the street landscape remains mostly closed up at the first little leaves ... again ...

Category: After the curtain
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You write that you are on. I write because I listen Motorcycle Diaries, the album that I listened last time you left the country. When you were away I felt things would not be the same. I was sure that your return will not bring anything good. Last moments spent together I have learned that things are not the most pleasant and best. I forgot.

I now enjoy freedom although I miss you. Maybe because you understand me better than anyone? Maybe because I was? Maybe because we talked a lot when you go silent without your ear to the cry of silence? Even if I wanted to light up when you lay still, curtains to rise alone?

I'm weird. I'm weird that you get deep into my soul, where the slightest whiff of your breath I tremble. Sometimes cold, sometimes hot. I've warmed up, I've frozen, made me burn, let me left me. And it goes on ... smoldering.

I remember.

You know long ago, when our last summer in a bank? Bodies at which heat was so strong embrace, your paint jeans stayed on my pants? Then I left both, you and I cluttered dirty wet pants that color early news of hot and heavy times.

That even now I wonder where they are heading, times?

(Diary blog is fictional, any resemblance to reality is coincidental)

Category: Amor
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From your eyes I did light gray and, slowly, I warmly surrounded them. Slowly as you left comforted her. At first feeble, a little shy and like undiscovered. Only your fingers were strong and determined, as an island in a sea of ​​forms.

Category: Amor
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A month ago she was in town and called me to come on at 8. Girls went to an exhibition. A call before eight but I do not answer. I do not think but can not resist.

Today I understand. It's another show, it's before 8 and it is to me, in a last access to privacy. Stay with me one hour and time passes so quickly. I thought it would not go, but you have to leave. We call him.

Category: Amor
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I always wonder what is art. A picture on the wall? An image in an exhibition? It's very hard to understand what is art today. We are looking for unique ... uniqueness. Then maybe my life is art ...

Category: Journal
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