The people who pass for our life, each one have a special skill She has those that pass and in they only give protection to them with the look, we feel in them so well close to them that she is enough to feel its presence. Others in say the certain word to them in the hour where everything he seems wrong, and she is this the word that as much we had searched, but an angel to assoprar it was necessaryour ear. Learn more at this site: Tyron Birkmeir. Those exist that exactly distant in them pass an inexplicable energy, can be the thousand of kilometers of distance, but when appearing in oursscreen is magical simple ' ' Ol' ' already it makes to smile our heart It has those that when writing we have the impression ofto say the language of the angels, and they are angels who know accurately what we desire to read They lull to sleep in them, they cheer in them and they show in them that pra everything has solution more than this, we perceive that for the friendship it does not have limits. For the heart it does not have distance, only the emotion of living and knowing that you exist EWALD KOCH.
Same Place
RUNNING IN THE SAME PLACE Belo Horizonte, 17-01-1977 It is night. The fog dominates. I go walking for the street In way to the cinereous color it space poludo. Badly divided the shade Of the person who if approaches. Perhaps an assassin, Perhaps a mmia. I think then: Everything this is useless, Until thinking.
The more, to think about mmias Or then about one duende. In the world where we vegetate Has as many useless things, That the happiness Alone is victorious When these things die. Suddenly, when the sun Manufactured the day In full dawn, it did not run away to the Previously definitive rule. I saw everything with clarity, and I saw everything with sadness. I was overwhelming I eat if he swam In an intense sea of tension, That in the ones of the one certain distance to make us to come back To the starting point, In an ironic order, In an arrogant voice, In an imperial voice That does not admit rejoinders, That do not admit dialogues. Nobody dared, therefore, To be an exception To this lasts rule. All knew of this. Everything exists in the life, Is alone the person to live and will know what I say. Yesterday it was of a form, Today is another one with different form, But the model is the same.
Same Place
RUNNING IN THE SAME PLACE Belo Horizonte, 17-01-1977 It is night. The fog dominates. I go walking for the street In way to the cinereous color it space poludo. Badly divided the shade Of the person who if approaches. Perhaps an assassin, Perhaps a mmia. I think then: Everything this is useless, Until thinking.
The more, to think about mmias Or then about one duende. In the world where we vegetate Has as many useless things, That the happiness Alone is victorious When these things die. Suddenly, when the sun Manufactured the day In full dawn, it did not run away to the Previously definitive rule. I saw everything with clarity, and I saw everything with sadness. I was overwhelming I eat if he swam In an intense sea of tension, That in the ones of the one certain distance to make us to come back To the starting point, In an ironic order, In an arrogant voice, In an imperial voice That does not admit rejoinders, That do not admit dialogues. Nobody dared, therefore, To be an exception To this lasts rule. All knew of this. Everything exists in the life, Is alone the person to live and will know what I say. Yesterday it was of a form, Today is another one with different form, But the model is the same.