it also said Dante in the middle of the road had been lost for a dark wood, then came out to see the stars. who knows what shone in his eyes .. After a tour of the fire flames and clouds of heaven have been soft as the air of a summer breeze. a path of his atonement, but will not give them much Beatrice let go anyway. That's why you wrote .. compensation ..
consolation prize: his father elected to the Italian language. If he had known me knows that was a change! but this is not the point ..
summer days make you wait like prima donnas. climate makes it barely bearable duties dictated by the vice squad in Europe. yet another testimony to the unlit cigarette in the ashtray pleasure of being spoiled as a child of the city. avid consumers of better times its container is consumed as a bar of soap in a public bathroom. order to be worthy of those who prefer the events looking for a way to pain ever experienced. hours of sleep subtract pleasure to life when they are unnecessary. said that everything ends with the repetition and become boring, except for those who can see it every time with new eyes. said many things the people next to me. told stories so beautiful as to make your ears bleed, so glittering stories you wanted to steal their first distraction. listen to stories so compelling that it was not enough, you wanted to live them. were stories of another age, where the princess lived tallest tower in the castle was saved by a brave knight, without blemish and without fear, who had fought against evil dragons and ogres just to steal the first kiss. anocronistica is the feeling of not being able to compete with those stories that upset the harmony of every song played. that feeling of having chosen place and time with too much weight and having to accept the error. the feeling of having heard something in the distance that corriponde nothing if not a cry for help. wanting to catch up with the world because the world is now so and you can not change, and then change it themselves to keep up, knowing that they die slowly totally abandons decision. the mirror and not find a picture of a time so familiar and pleasing to the eyes corrupt by the smoke of chimneys that infest the city.
and do not try anything. and not feel anything anymore. and become unable to communicate. language consists of letters slamming on the palate, but it sounds petty and primitive annoy those who listen casually to my speech.
summer days will return to cheer the uomori minutes to sour the nearby bench. clearly read the sign hanging on the door: "I'll be back," he says. while I wait with impatience, I go for a walk. knock, and if I do not answer, do not worry I'll be back ..
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