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was wrong ...

pigeon was wrong. He was wrong.
To go north, went south. Believed that wheat was agua.Se wrong.
believed that the sea was the sky that night in the morning. He was wrong.
That the stars were dew that heat, the snow. He was wrong. That
your skirt was your blouse, your heart your home. He was wrong.

(She fell asleep on the shore. You, on top of a branch.)
Rafael Alberti (born 1902).

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To a place not to forget ...

I know someday I'll go. I do not know where or when but I am firmly convinced. Maybe Mexico, Puerto Rico or maybe why not Argentina. We all like challenges and if anything I have is an open mind. I do not know quite what to do wherever you go but I know I will only because this is the best thought and, above all, as best dreams. No company but my suitcase, filled with all kinds of junk you need on occasion. "The adventure " as my grandmother used to say. Then discover even more how hard life is. How difficult it is to build and how easy it is to destroy, demolish, destroy that hard-won rise. Someday I'll have to think about who dismiss me, but it is still early. Surely a few. Saying "I'm not know where or what ." While obviously the reason I know: to know me better, more loving to myself and to recognize all those values \u200b\u200bthat sometimes lie dormant because of the convenience of life, that existence as changeable as the weather. A few days gray or white, if not, blanuquinegros if not black.

always write when I'm inspired and today is a total inspiration. Absolute. There are things that make you think and before them is not to discover it is better to flee but you realize that once solved all the most correct is to ship to somewhere that makes you feel good about yourself. With quiet or hustle. Whatever. The important thing is that there are those who discover the most important people in your life because you'll miss those who are contingent, and also have a chance to find out if there is goodness in people, those people with whom you will interact in that place where travel, as a scout. A journey into the depths of life, of existence. Sorry I did not invite such an adventure but I am aware that it is better to travel alone. Not because the company was not good but because there are things to do alone and for oneself.

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Every day when I turn out the light of the bedside table come to mind stories that pefect shape on paper. Many times I turn on the lamp again and look for a notebook agarabatear unfortunately so often are just fabricated stories from beginning to end. But the "modus operandi" is always the same. Sometimes change, but only slightly and when in the middle of the night a dream comes to me or just noise wakes me up of the bed where I curled up peacefully as the most tender puppy in his wooden house, hears a noise, looked out, collecting the heat or cold outside, sits up and barks could be. I, comparisons aside, do the same: sleep, I wake up abruptly, I open my eyes, I stretched and in the meantime, run those imaginative neurons found in a state of half sleep. Actually, everything written here is false. Sometimes you do not sack the head of the wooden house because I prefer to dream peacefully everything safely will never come true.