Today I opened my small closet, and took out yellow papers worn out, I lost her years white, and played the hand of time, I got it
This is a life that is almost like a passing cloud in the summer. It is strange in this: it is a life that is not covered by a seer, that sees something from it.
My old papers were whispering softly, tugging at my dreams in the middle of their sweetness, stirring the wave of lichens that lay in one corner of the subconscious. The vibrations of her optical words creep into the centers of my feeble memory, and life follows memories forgotten, and the spider nestles on it.
I see him in every letter, every word, every line, like a new child who loves, embraces his hands and embraces the earth for the first time.
The distances are shortened, time is reduced to the back. I am now an innocent child looking, drenched in the rudeness of childhood, surrounded by my neck collar, and decorating the collar of my purple shirt picked by my mom from our small garden. I sit at the crossroads, waiting for the neighbors' daughter. The neighbor's daughter is wrapped in a silky white robe, embroidered with daintiness, a beautiful smile on her crimson lips, her pupils uttering the meanings of purity, her lips echoing in the twilight, the song of the sunset, extending her small hand. She read her lucky lines and went whispering in her ear with warm voice phrases.
What is the most beautiful childhood days, and the first, they are closest to a bright light, long life in the depths illuminate the soul, and beautify the soul, continue to increase the thirsty hearts of tenderness, and food for the burning heart,
I have given me some hope to destroy the power of boredom that pervades every part of my surroundings, and I have embarked on the renaissance of this world. Spacious, I hold my freedom in my palm.
