You are all impulses and nerves, my dear.

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Ding, dong. Ding, dong. Dang.                                                                                         
The rusty church bell was moved again by the wrinkled hand of that old man. You feel thrills, you don’t know the difference between the sounds that announce a death, a celebration, or a danger approaching.

Close your eyes again, child, close them. This dark behind them is soft, it is reassuring; is the refuge of those inner parts that you voluntarily and selfishly keep just for yourself.      
Oh, yes, well done. Of course you are correct, they snigger at you and ridicule the attempts that defy their encircled, small universes of destitution, simplicity and resignation.

A stream goes always downwards, never upwards, darling. 
What would be the point of revealing the braveness of this tiny,  stingy and recalcitrant light (of grandeur) that shines and fills your  gaze?

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Glance, caress, retain.

Keep it inside, it is concentrated. Why do you like to allow the trickle, don’t you know the diffusion is noticeable? Don’t you know the eagles hunt in the peaceful and clear, beautiful sunny days? And even during the stormy ones, there are thunders that can hit. Suddenly. Don’t you know your human body is capable of electrical conductivity? You are all impulses and nerves, my dear.

Creepy.

Yes, the striving for excellence is friendly on the surface, isn’t it?

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Clear your consciousness, the guilt is always eager and villain, bin it and isolate it with barbed wire. Touch the inside of your wrist, feel the will pulsating rapaciously in there, give it expression and meanings, allow it to grow and release your wings.

Can you sense it?

 The ease in your steps, the concavity of your empty stomach, your disheveled frame. No, is not the time to stop, no. Go there, challenge another dream, carefully collect every single squama that drops, negligent and dastard, on the concrete of this tormented yet charming road that you are moving on. You don’t know dance rhythms, you are not eager to exihibit, but you do keep a pace that’s every-thing but stumbling, which makes you feel impressed and chivalrous.

Every-thing but stumbling?

Do forgive me, I am obsolete, breaches can sneak in, as snakes that contract their muscles under the cold skin of poikilotherms…to creep, to search, to find.

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