We were two seas. Kept well separated by a strip of land. When it seemed to be no other way to leave no stone unturned, that I wanted to bathe in that sea, and thought, I dug. With these hands, my Panama Canal. Wound water, forced between closed and bulkheads. To mix this water. With yours.
Yes, that's why I started this blog. For no other reason than not to continue to meet. Why good or bad I've marked.
Each line was written for you, for me thinking of you.
If after all this time and this cast of irreverent indifference. I'm still here. I find myself thinking about certain your words.
At those depths that I have not scrutinized the bottom.
No, I'm sorry. I am not ill. Nor love. You. To support the rhyme, if you want, this is the hiatus. That you want. Finally obtained.
it all ends here. Where it began. A strange summer night threatening storm. Mica
the table before the window of a Parisian café.
Unfriend, I think you say that, when you take a friendship to facebook. It is fashionable now, ebb and flow. I will do so too.
Without being so avant-garde, as you are, on the edge.
I greet you with a beautiful masterpiece.
Only for those who can listen. Other
.
And not just himself.
Sorry.
Jamiro
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