How Much To Hire Pinky

this morning with his eyes still closed and his mind clouded by a terrible nightmare, started the change. Change for all those reasons that I had already explained in previous post. We say that the last poem I published scared me a bit. That evening, alone at home, I decided to write a nice post on the habits of the Milanese. Listening to "The Foule " Edith Piaff I was thinking about how to start .. all of a sudden my hands start to write the first word, then another, then another, and within two minutes I found myself to read a poem sad and pathetic (and I mean pathetic full of pathos), which at that time could not be written by me. And it could be because first of all it was not in the programs and then because this time the love is really the last thing that takes me ... I needed something stronger after this surprise. And so I started to mess with something symbolic: a wall of the house. I looked at the white wall since I moved into the new house. She stared at me smugly, so anonymous. And then a few days ago I, my face and my idiot roommate Ale Castorama we went to search for a new color. And to the question of the order from the tail up, "Red, orange, green, blue ... what color do you prefer?" without delay a moment "Miss .. please give me the dark colors."

And while the clerk handed me the champion with shades of dark gray I smiled. And the more I smiled as she looked at me like a psychopath. "Miss we have decided this." The color was very dark, very beautiful. After returning home, armed with roller I painted, with a bit of sadism not deny it, the unbearable white wall.

My "ciel dans une chambre" I can finally see it every day.

will not be blue like normal but it is dark.

's black because the blue will not feel totally mine.

' s black because the black encloses all colors ....

I like to look at it and imagine it as the backdrop of a theater ....

Outfits Pokemon Online

I eat of your silence. When the sun rises ray bigger than us, the clouds I can see your smile, sweet love I miss, I do not breathe, choking my soul between the red silk sheets.

I eat your breath. And while I do not speak, I listen to the infinite from your parted lips, mouth of strawberry, is exhibition and does not move.

I eat of your joy, sweet love, that make your eyes shine and make you happy.

I eat of your essence, pure love, that has nothing to do with your appearance.

I eat your illusion, doomed love ... and while I wait, your shadow is increasingly blurred ...

Make My Nails Grow Faster

I lost in the rain of a gray day in Milan. I feel a drop down inside my jacket and a shiver of pleasure through my body. From the neck down slowly stroking up his back. My hair is wet, I feel cold, moist air brings me to a state of total confusion. I do not know who I am. I close my eyes and the wind drags me into the vortex of memories. Suddenly I'm back baby. Buenos Aires smoke fades to give way to a wonderful smell of wet earth. I have a blue cape and with his tongue tasting the rain, completely muddy I enjoy jumping in a puddle. In the distance I hear the voice of my grandfather calling me: "Go home you take my nico fever." I look up and he is there I smile and open arms waiting for me to let me know that he loves me. I run towards him, hug him happy. His arms are big, his red cardigan smells Pino Silvestre, the perfume that his grandmother gave him for her birthday, to hold me tight and if I let myself pampered. From the kitchen comes to life and spreads in the hallway, the dining room, right outside on the veranda of a delicious aroma of fresh tomato sauce. The grandmother is in the kitchen. "Antoinette run, run! I caught a mouse! "Cries Grandfather still smiling. Embraced his grandfather, I see a tiny hand with red nail polish I stroked her hair and a friendly face that reassures me and makes me feel protected. "Mario, but you saw what a beautiful little mouse?" Whispers Grandmother Grandfather's right ear with a wink as a sign of complicity. "It Antoinette, is our mouse," said the grandfather laughing taste .... Let's start myself and my grandmother to laugh and feel safe in their arms to be lucky ....

Suddenly I hear you calling: "There are 50 €, thanks." I open my eyes, the order of Zara looks at me strangely. I give her the money and smile ... .. I take disillusioned with air bag and head for the exit. ... Still raining outside.

Wireless Rhinestone Mouse

Among the many lessons of MATRA , one seems particularly suitable for this situation: "Always call things by their name." I can not write anymore and not because I suddenly forgot all the rules of grammar but simply because each post is constantly misunderstood by people who have next. They are, alas, forced to not being able to speak clearly for fear of hurting someone. But you know what? I started writing here to give vent to those feelings, those emotions in everyday life often hide behind a smile. My blog has become a lively backyard where my dear readers seeking confirmation and response to their insecurity. NO, there are no answers, do not write for any of you.
And then we start to speak clearly. I would like to say that A must accept it, that life goes on and I'll be there forever. AG must stop being paranoid and start living. AV Must out of the alley without light. AD and the other villagers to get their dicks. To my neighbors who mention a "Hello" does not change your life but it certainly would help them to socialize. The owner of the house to be less barrels and make a copy of the keys to the gate. To my mother to stop "control" over the blog and take a radiograph to all my FB friends. To my grandparents would like to explain that the Internet is not limited to the 60 videos on Youtube, but there is also XTube. As for me, more than a piece of advice I should start to act, maybe cut their hands so avoid writing nonsense.

Play And Save Pokemon Red Online

My soul is black. It 's a fact. I live in extreme forms, emotions, thoughts incoherent, conflicting. My soul can not be white than black because it never was. Why white is pure, manages to illuminate the lives of people who love him. I, however, brings nothing but pain and suffering to those who are next. Drag me with a black halo of lucidity that scares me and makes me white, pure, true. I feel constantly torn between that convey a positive image and a dark reflection that does not allow me to love, love to the end ...

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I wish I could believe that this night flights between light sweet memories and hopes ... I get lost in a void. I listen to my beats. It 's always the same time in recent months has gone fast, flowing slowly and almost motionless tonight I feel I do not keep more than one part. I go away for a moment from my bed, I feel cold. The longed for another cigarette makes me feel alive. I would not be here.

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The last Saturday in Sicily and I have preferred to stay home ... I moved the rocking chair in the garden and I heard some music on a starry night ... This I feel mine, only mine. I thought about my life, I'm looking for the meaning, the meaning of the word "ambition" that I found to be entirely subjective. I'm trying to purge my soul from pre-concepts and expectations that while it never was my it has become. I decided that when you set foot in Milan will begin a new chapter, more sincere and less cynical times ... A dream to wake up and be someone else. I can not feel pain, I no longer feel the weight of the past, a strong sirocco wind around me and I do not feel that fire burning that pervades my thoughts and makes me nervous, impatient ... continually look for a sign, the sign which make me finally free from the consciousness of not having built nothing but thoughts beautiful and fragile as crystal glasses ... I repeat that I still have your whole life ahead but I can not understand why I have the constant feeling of "not living". What am I waiting for? My entire adolescence was a constant journey which led me to meet myself just now for the first time .... thought I was different.

aimless traveler