That we feel all the types of desires, loves, dreams and we transform while still alive and fact, is not easy to simplify letters, keeping the flame of the lighted survival is the sensible greater. Since mutually the oprbrio in the crucifica to a routine of errors and rightnesss day the day. when we lie down after to long hours of persistence or desistance, routine stories that fadigam reluctant to make a mistake. Which is being of living? We do not posamos of truth for the real photos of the life, such is with that passes the time in search of the nothing, of the everything in black points Frustrating deliriums in return of a real life, without sound, letters, nailed of fungos and fears. Who search the sun without measuring the temperature before is burnt, who goes of looks at vidrados until the meeting of the moon touches in the nothing, the cold of the breeze that hides the disillusionments stained for the sadness not to have a home, a family, a reason pra to live and later dying. The certainty is that we are born, after that dies, is what it has that to be, same that the sound and pain are not felt. A word exists that moves everything; Hope. together faith to the tips and mooring cable what it does not have direction, starting to be reason.

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