Hope of life
This is only the hope, but really I just like a seagull who lost direction of the wind. Fly wings that almost broken before it docked. But I’ll always be chasing your dock, although the storm will always throw me into the sharp rocks your heart. Let crushed my soul divide increasingly aging, as long as I can cut this longing in the shadow of you. And hopefully it does not fly by night, until paid in full
Nobody except those dumb longing, as a dream which is always the achievement and destruction. Of course, for him and the poor soul, and I always have to be one of longing bathing pile piled on you, O flower frangipani (sorry I did not write the initials). The night seemed to be not perfect, as I always looked at the earth is still spinning.
So what kind of gift you want to send, if I had come home too soon. While the day could no longer repeat, not miserable. But I can only hope some day you send flowers when the night-time start paying longing to the moon, because I’m waiting on the platform the sky. Moderation is not … … but it is only a hope for dreams that will soon not be sure.
When are you going to repay the certainty of it.
