With the intact body and the hands that hold the face, I might be looking out this window for days. And boredom waiting to try, and try to move in the emotion of the shadows and feel the chills of the night, and watch the sunset, and sighed impatiently for that ever-changing sky that I can only indicate the index.
The fear of feeling, the fear of losing control, fear of making a false step, the fear.
Fear is a wonderful gift. The Fear has character. It 's a feeling charismatic. The fear is overwhelming. Fear is an epiphany, a revelation, is the answer to the riddle.
There are fears that it is recognized as a limitation. Or that is perceived as such.
Fear is an inspiration, a starting point, a springboard.
With the intact body and the hands that hold the face, I might be looking out this window for days. And the seagulls follow the parables. And then imagine a mountain lake. And sweating in a tropical climate. And find the right questions to the fears that I'm not looking if not well reflected in the metaphorical dreams.
An antidote to themselves, knowing the load of checks and balances, learning the art interior of the compromise, the gift of wisdom at the cost that is spent in a single moment of clarity.
It 's always too soon when the rainy season arrives, is always too foot forward when it passed the edge of a precipice, no matter how this is unbalanced because it exceeds the limit of balance falls at the same how they would fall if it were in a vacuum.
There's a smile waiting for me, I wear it and go back to the window.
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