“Everyday I am finding neverland in your touch just a little bit more than the day before.”

Hatred conquers the sea in which is growing thee them tiny pearls struggling a little trying to solve the final riddle.

The beautiful repose of the night its silence and mystery contrasts the commotion of my soul.

Oh, how I wish you were here bathing in the silky sheets of my dreams, your lips on mine a flame and wine smoke in the air clouds filled with thoughts oh, how I long for your skin and touch.

When the grass turns brown nobody seems to care. It’s just temporary, they say yet I can feel it will stay and stay.

From time to time, I would like to cut off all the strings and lines that conclude that ridiculous puppet show they call life.

I cried and cried and cried having Realized that the beauty of my soul was being neglected by nobody else but myself.

And I try, I so try to fit everywhere, with everyone to be neutral, to be good and with all that, I lose myself. I lose the truest layer of all.

I feel all that, your touch your presence your breath but can’t tell if its you I’m looking at.

Yet now as we grow older why must we be frightened of being tranquil?

We have to remember to do small things every single day and minute for sometimes love is simply not enough to fill our cup.

How is it possible that with one stare I’m in flames and no fire extinguisher shall help me? and so here I stand a tree burning from inside out of love from you.

This feeling in my chest is telling me to stay to do as I should, to be where I should but my mind is telling me to go away.

Even on the darkest days the sun still rises.

A feeling deliciously bitter lingers on my tongue. It’s sharp relish urges me to keep my mouth shut and my conscience clear. Though how can one act so when one’s veins are stuffed with what’s not said before?

We laid in bed with our hands tied, talked about love and clear, summer skies.

Each and every bad seed counts, for even if they don’t survive or grow too beautifully, a bad seed allows you to re-evalutate the others and appreciate them even more.

Electronic devices dislike me. There is never a day when something isn’t ailing.

Happiness is a little bit of art on a sad day.

No, only disappointment in myself on those occasions I didn’t manage to rise to the occasion as I felt I should’ve done. I can always see how to do it, and then the challenge is, Can I manage that each and every day?

Any day can be Monday when you choose to start right.

To do things today exactly the way you did them yesterday saves thinking.

The unthankful heart discovers no mercies; but let the thankful heart sweep through the day and, as the magnet finds the iron, so it will find, in every hour, some heavenly blessings!

I wondered how long it could last. Maybe someday, years from now.If the pain would decrease to the point where I could bear it. I would be able to look back on those few short months that would always be the best of my life.

The Working Man’s Creed: “A short day is better than a short dollar” .