Rainy day for conscience
Today is a rainy day, again. The sun is nothing but light and heat, not even the rainbow's been flourishin' these days. Just go home, says my heart. I'd like to stay home, just to be in my safe shell, smelling only the purests smellings I already know for a long time. But the world is expansion, is a constant overflow, even when it leads towards the unknown, the not so safe places, not so warm lands. Pure is ideal, imagination, no contact, what somehow people have been longing to for years. Just want to go down into knowledge, overcome myself: that's my ambitious wish and my pleasure, my fun in my free time. No water surrounding me because everything is water, so water doesn't exist, it just is. In fact, for my surprise, I'm writing! For my need flowers of criativity grow: and that's the danger, God! I swear don't want to discover it, except for a minute: this and uncountable others. The full glass of extreme energy those who tasted it died for one, two or for all worlds. Although, somehow, all of us may touch, make thin the thick veil that separates the prohibited places behind conscience (that's what they call it).
Marcadores: conscience, rainy day, write
