Jesse Jane And Janine Stream

memory lane

Dear Chest:

Go with these nostalgia! By arranging things that go in my room, I met you. I looked long, stroked your lid, removing any dust. I looked at the lock, which is not so, is that long hinge that keeps the small padlock in the open case. No more than I dug into my stuff.
I open, trying to remember what has earned stored there. Much has certainly due or should be there. But it is the trunk of years ago. Find photos, family, my newly born, I am amazed to see that small, and yet I'm sunbathing in the garden of the house where I was born, on these rugs, I only look to a baby who was breaking and robust like my father. I hardly think I'm the same, of course, there planned to absorb what life in my life, I had in store.
Oh, how cute! was here, the picture that caught in time the first time I saw the sea, see Lake Maracaibo, in its ferry crossing was already a amazement. Look at the sea, scan the horizon, smell their aroma, walking on the warm sand of the beach, coastline and famous then made me realize my few years that there are immense that the eyes can not capture.
More pictures of my parents, brothers, uncles, and almost all the guys have left us, as friends of the soul that there are also caught in time.
prints of saints, pieces of paper with thoughts, a diary with my earlier writings; wooden pens that no longer have my first pen. Drawings I did and I never wanted to throw away newspaper clippings, magazines, all carefully folded.
Meeting, loves that were, are now part of me that indissoluble. There are, along with a napkin and a poem written on it, a declaration of love with little drawings of hearts, I wrote those letters. The lyrics of the songs that I spent a day. Ties of a gift, along with the glossy paper-lined boxes. Expired passport for a trip made outside the country. Coins (collect coins) and collect pledges. Yes, oddly enough, in my trunk, I found hovering thousands of promises that I made and were not kept and some that I did it. There they are. Promises of marriage. Promises of "let's go, take my hands" or "this is forever", said on both sides, without thinking that there always.
The strange thing is that without opening the trunk, without saving anything else, appeared new promises, illusions that have been broken and then I find shreds of life, broken heart, a bottle whose label reads: "tears." Looking further into the background and yes, the box is the laughter, laughter, happiness felt before each broken promise or performed. You
Chest behold, with great care and with the nostalgia filled my eyes. Rearrange what I was getting, maybe some illusion has escaped, maybe some tears evaporated, as it is possible that the sound of laughter has increased to silence the silence.
finish my homework and I end up shut you down, unlocked, with the open hoping that at some time, please open up and in doing so, find love smiling and palms open, facing the sun, all the promises.

I say goodbye to you, dear Chest, but not before remembering the song that came to mind when I found:


The trunk of memories


That little words mean
uuuh
If when the wind carries them away after he
And only memories remain
uuuh
Promises flew back and can not always live


forward if each
day has a different color because everything comes to an end
after a sad day comes another happy

Looking in the trunk of memories
uuuh
Any time spent
seems best to look back is good sometimes

uuuh Looking ahead is to live without fear

Memories are the last
When there is so much to go Ooooh

Looking
in the trunk of memories
uuuh
Any time spent
seems best to look back is good sometimes
uuuh
Looking forward is to live without fear

if each day has a different color

After a sad day comes Looking for a better

in the trunk of memories
uuuh
any past
seems best to look back is good sometimes
uuuh
Looking ahead is to live without fear

If every day has a different color

After a sad day, another one always lives better

forward if each day has a different color because everything comes

to an end after a sad day, another one always lives happy

forward if each day has a different color ...
Fuente: musica.com
Karina


I stick with all my love, I

Ninja Turtles Poptropica

Letter to the girl who was

girl Amada only yesterday:


I write from nostalgia, from this day I booted tattered soul, left marks on the skin samples of rebirth at every entrance to a theater, a progress survive diagnostics.
I write, from my playhouse, kitchen to cook in earnest, with a chunk white squares appeared lumps of sugar. Where my baby dolls and never grew large arriving were also daughters, sisters, students, patients, friends, inseparable companions, confidants who knows how much punishment a child can suffer.

I am writing from my book Mantilla, hardcover, where I learned to read and where I loved every word I came across cautionary tale that there dwelt, with images of early twentieth century, which made me dream of being as good children who told stories subsidiaries, or as the wise teacher who gave lessons of life in innocence and goodness of a huge respect for others, brother life is giving us.
girl I write only yesterday from my notebooks and leather chair that was in the "little school pays the teacher retired neighbor, who refused to stop teaching reading and writing to those left in their care , and for me, which had only four years, was like a pre-school today, but from where I started, writing fluently, leaving behind the strokes and "or" round like the sun.

I am writing from my room where my desk bed was often the stories he wrote after read a poem that made me jump tears or a novel about impossible love, where Mary was the star that died without his beloved Ephraim at his side. If you had known Jorge Isaacs, how many times I reread chapters of your wonderful novel.
I am writing from Gallegos, Uslar Pietri, Andrés Eloy Blanco, Juan Antonio Pérez Bonalde, Otero Silva, Guillermo Meneses and ineffable Teresa de la Parra in his memoirs, White Mama and her beautiful Iphigenia. I am writing from an endless circle of writers who left a dent in my being forever.


you also write from my dreams to become a priest, a missionary in Africa, or at the country serving God in which nothing possess.


But mostly, I write from my innocence, from this point who planted and cultivated in me forever, believing without fail in humans, in truth, never to deceive and be who I am, to be as I was taught to be. Today
drag thistles that I found on the roads, the disappointments, the homeless, my anger, my fears, my failures and victories, all of life live forever in trying not to lose the rest of noble innocence that makes me say ... you who read me now, I love you, but do not know anything, but suffice it to know you exist, that my word I recognize and acknowledge you to take part to me.

girl I write only yesterday, with the weight of this lonely and painful fall, but with eyes full of butterflies of all colors, ears deafened with the singing of cicadas and the chattering of parrots and macaws that were running fences in the backyards of the neighbors, apple oil field where I was born and raised, for me that my book Mantilla educator and the Rapporteur of feelings in letters ever written.

I write without saying goodbye to you my piece in yesterday's girl, who still lives in me.

I love you, I
.

Paper Towel Absorption

Second Letter to Pronouns (You, He, She, We, They)

Second Letter to the pronouns (You, He, She, We, They)


My beloved Personal Pronouns:

I have met in one letter to continue the saga he left me in my writing ever written. That thread with everyone, I have always saved me. Amado

You: You

second pronoun, first in the list of preferences, the immediate, mediate. First be walking You and me and then I, then others. You, who ordered me, I drive on the roads to be holding hands You, but second in the conjugation of all verbs, which enslaves or redeeming in every act of living of the self that I am, or he or she, or You, writhing beings entangled in the skein of life.
You who dwell in the light of the tragedy to come out on top, to be first no matter later. You, who signed earlier, who sits on the single seat empty waiting room, bus or you stand in front of the door open for passes you and then I'm your shadow.
You, who left first, who ran sales from the pronouns of the second place to reach the goal of all feelings, you chained to me I have to be two, because without me, life in pronouns misses the meaning of ... us.

You, the great and immeasurable other self, selfless, self-centered at times, brother, friend, sister, dumbbell me, plow furrows in the walk through time. He

Dear Ella:

He, She, third pronoun, third beings in the life of everyone.
He, She, the other close to one, those listed constantly hover around us like fireflies, butterflies, like flies at times.

He, She, who are there, away and near, beside, behind, in front, but there to be felt, because without him or her, the couple are not we procreate without him and she does not exist, but sometimes we would drive them from us, be the whip us, which threatens us, that we cornered. Of course, in many others, are those who love us or who sleep with one, we give the children or those who simply love or hate to madness.
He, She, third dual pronoun to be living in the conjugation of verbs of life. Beloved

Us:

We, the Self in plural, I multiplied all on our own, in others.

We, the conglomerate, the conclave, the meeting, the bullaranga, silence, church, sect, society, communion.

We are the walking out of nothing, of suffering, of joy, of knowing a lot when you're little, knowing nothing when it is all.

We, we the people, we are the homeland, and we are the children, parents, entire generations who we are, He and She to forge a world of melancholy or carcajadas.Nosotros who live far from you, who live crammed into the pronoun for all that live on this side, being all together, as in Fuente Ovejuna, Lord. Dear

They
:

Those who feel out, we left behind the door, which we know exist beyond us. They
, the end of the list, akin to the You , with which we call by distinction, however, are equally to all, to him or her, to you, and I, to our own, because even if we want letting go of all we are part of a single common verb conjugated in the pronouns are.

reached the end without more, and there is much to thank you for giving us names and subjects that we, who are dismissed will always be a compendium of every one of you,

I, you, he, she, we, you, them.