Let's take a few minutes to escape on a boat sailing in pictures, alone on a journey that does not like tears and does not get high with grief.
We will keep walking, and I remain in my stupor, the badger, the pain of shadows as I was, without care, eyes or color, nothing but darkness, lips wanting nothing close to what they want, hands wanting to embrace the vast space, and a heart wanting the stars.
You are the only one who if you saw my weakness, it wouldn't be heavy on me.
He cuts space and cuts time lightly, not allowing space to captivate him, nor time to annihilate him. The withdrawal from the condition of walking to reach.
All the brave men I saw, mispicked their battles and lost, and all those I knew should be celebrated were all alone.
Since my childhood I imagined the soul to be blue! I wanted a soul as wide as the sky, cold as the sea, quiet as the dawn. But I was a child that didn't know what bruises looked like.
I sleep filling my eyelids from her strays, and people watch over her and quarrel.
I am a star that guides my company when my gloom of clouds prevent to see the stars.
O inhabitant of my eyes and my blood, where in the world is there a place where you are not?
Why didn't we find enough solace in sadness? Why didn't we find enough forgiveness in love? Why is there not enough man in man? Why are all my questions while you are here and you are there?
Love must survive the beginnings to be love, become solid over time in its continuous arrival, not in the moment of its launch, but when it realizes that it has ended with healing answers.
There is something that slowly kills great friendships, and this thing is often not done by treachery or quarrels. Rather, by “not taking into account” the meaning of the phrase. This is manifested by enthusiasm, which is met with a lukewarm and dead reaction, or by frankness that shakes respect. What ends slowly, never returns.
Oh night, it escaped from your stares. I turn my sides in the sky, so that it may coincide with its sides when you look.
She says she desires a secluded cabin in a spacious field, a nearby tree, and a wide sky.
The magic of a dream touched him once, and the memory of the beautiful sin will always haunt him--a moment of freedom, a lightness that can hardly be tolerated due to its excessive beauty--remains haunting like conscience, and inspiring as every moment is full of life, effectiveness, and painful. At the heart of the moment you gamble with your presence to follow the dream.
All those who are stuck in their critical days, ask them for the signs of heaven and the shoulders of friends, and their consolation is that behind this slowness there are ends and anchors. Far be it from you not to inform us.
It came as high as a lofty heart, so that the heart does not entertain it, nor does the soul become bored!
I think if it were not for you, if your fragrance did not reveal a defect, if it were morning blond, no frills would be planted in it. If it were not for the softness of your legs, would the earth be embroidered with grass? You trample, so the morning has a breath and the rock has a heart. You see, beautiful, if it weren't for you, would there be a path full of roses? And if it were not for your eyes to turn green after the appointments, would the light swim in the East? Is it wet in the color West? What if the gray sparkle, without you, is a meteor? Were thousands of butterflies in the field, good tired? If I don't love you.. what should I love?
O my home, if my home is narrow, O my friend, if the companions are few!