words in the night.
the evening fell again to embrace my senses and give cool to my members hot. With the fall of the dark I return to my usual activities. The hot tires me, in its inactivity. Do not leave me do not let me think, I can just drag me into the evening, when my brain like a computer equipped with fan, back to work at full capacity.
And it's too late.
Late to study late to linger, because tomorrow the sun will lead to the beginning of a new day that I shall never escape taking refuge in the arms of Morpheus. Late, late, late. The weather makes a mockery of me, let I always all'affanno the chase, leaving tap, tap, and then just slips away, the only true master of himself he is. None of us will never be Lord of Time Lord of Death, none of us will never be truly free.
But there remains an illusion.
The illusion of adapting to the time it takes to grant Sister Died, the illusion of having fully enjoyed the time we spent, even the illusion that it is never too late. I could tell myself that tonight is not is too late to write, to create and give free rein to the unspoken words and thoughts from that hatched in the depths of December 26 last year. Is it true? It will be an illusion? I can not say. I can not say. Since I am not the Master of Time. I'm not the Lord of Death. What is a dream, illusion, falsehood or truth, freedom or jail, peace, sorrow, silence of the IO or voice of the soul, Time, in this warm evening in late May, it flows. Now slow, now rapid to leave this day behind me, I would like to continue to live and live, hour after hour in search of the moment, as may have been short, when I was Master of my time.
the evening fell to refresh my members hot. The night wraps me in its embrace intimate that I love so much. The peace comes over me, and the illusion of being free, cradle, will accompany me to sleep early so I will have to force myself to start the day tomorrow ...
