domingo, 8 de junho de 2008


If I could for a minute, succumb to the disaster of everyday, to let me go, let of cling to... I guess it would be possible to crash with one of the strangers that I cross by the street and have a premonition of happiness. But now, it`s sure that I can`t, and probably that`s why one ghost comes every night to rock my stupid guilt, and why its way`s a ring of fire. And when I finally sleep it`s always the same dream, sand falling fast in a glass bell. The sand very clean, the glass so weak.

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