every morning, freshly squeezed juice in the terrace searching a glimmer of sun, empathize with the slow agony of tomato increasingly timid and faded, do not put washing machines because "tell me why, if it will rain" cooking for two but there is not even your empty plate, put those songs you would mourn or move your feet, or both at the same time, do tea or mate?, escape in a thousand and one stories of others in audiovisual format, gmail - received without the (1), start a new book knowing that you've already got too many unfinished, dusting tools and simulate convince a recorded morning and I get the longing to remember the million times you put the Different Class and clean and just put any disc in hand, not knowing why and no full stops or not followed, recognizing that the background is just that, wait.
http://froststick.deviantart.com/art/Wings-61942444
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