Dance and Dub

You believe that you're prepared to live your own life, abroad the bad decisions. She's reading a new book and he thinks about a self-help book for him.

Some of the clouds in the sky draw his recent past and I'm over the grass, without movement, full of ideas but with weakness that I cannot superate. The irritating sound closes every muscle and only, away, I believe recognize an old melody; one of my fingers tries to begin a small movement. It's impossible; this last travel has been a hard experience.

When your swift off the connection with your reality, little Worlds, never developed, will take your memory and they could play for long time. Sometimes, you saw children, women or friends but they had taken your mind and you danced a bit time an energetic games or you stopped for one hour in front of her to talk about the impossible feelings that were close in your life; another time, your old friend, indefatigable, opened a new way, to go out of your small World, that he knew so well; he, who ate the life.

A day, when the love was around you, this finger is moved by that suggestive distant song, and that day, a tear dance in every line of your face, you cannot move, but you feel jumps, stops, and rhythms; in the middle of extreme fatigue, you  reinvent rows, mountains, and rivers; in the first you will seek other footprints where its support your afraid about the next moments; on the second, stones, snows, forest indicate you the correct way to see the mountain peak or, at least, the new road where you come; and the last, the water is so powerful that opens routes, throws violently small dreams, ruthlessly captures bodies, full of life and falls in pools where the friends can rest for a moment of the last fight, and also laughs and speaks.

And this dream, so short, but so intense, invents you to take another painful discovery, moving a hand; here, rows are opened and fragrant, the mountain show you cold weather, energetic food,  improvise and savior support and the water is showed with its banks and rest areas

This afternoon, when people go out, and you're full of suffering and the darkness invades your eyes. She's there to draw the tear towards unknown furrows in your face, and then, sorry, you’re' popping the paths of cherries and strawberries, that distant peak will be of ice when you arrive and the water will be an emerald bed, hugging your body.