Of ready luggages, ticket in the hand, I looked at stops backwards, and the souvenirs had arisen with a done rapidity woman promise, and there I, were arranging I in the life, recommencing another the swelled time, heart bleeding, eyes, trembling hands and a certainty, the kept precious object in the bag we needed to leave, hopeful for the end. Slowly the life goes if adjusting, the old picture, goes thus for a so new wall nor, the old necessary dust to leave door the rejection, nothing remains for me of the place of where I came. Last night was return night and while they spoke of me, I was there I am, trying to survive, as today. You start to only believe that she did not come to the world to be happy, same that this is a universal dream, that nor always the dream that you choose, you choose you then you need to accept, no matter how hard donate, no matter how hard she hurts, the road must be followed, the day continues. We are all common people, we have faith in that we do not see, we possess a torn shirt which we adore, we have nightmares the times, a photo that not we want that nobody sees and many jealousies. It does not have parties in good bye. Of ready luggages and ticket in the hand, the hidden treasure reluz in the bag, the two currencies, the boatman will have that to wait.

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