CristalWright

My life is tributary to your life, whether it seems to you tumultuous, or lonely, like a single desperate flower. It depends on him as the orchid on the hardwood, or as the ivy on the wall, which only in him breathes up.

The princess is sad. What will the princess have? Sighs escape from his strawberry mouth, which has lost the laughter, which has lost the color. The princess is pale in her golden chair; the keyboard of her sounding key is mute, and in a glass, forgotten, a flower fainted.

If you love me, love me all over, not by areas of light or shadow. If you love me, love me black and white, and gray, and green, and blonde, and brunette. Love me day, love me night. And early morning in the open window!. If you love me, don't cut me: Love me all. Or you don't want me

That loves have already fled, loneliness has come. of sorrow consumed me.

If man could say what he loves, if man could lift up his love for heaven like a cloud in light; If, like walls that crumble, to greet the truth erect in the midst, I could crumble his body, leaving only the truth of his love, the truth of himself, which is not called glory, fortune or ambition, but love or desire, I would be the one I imagined; He who with his tongue, his eyes and his hands proclaims before men the unknown truth, the truth of his true love.

I was already spreading for him that hair that Amor took out from the gold of his mines, already breaking in those fine pearls a thousand sweet words without merecello, already picking from each beautiful lip purple roses without fear of thorns, I was, oh bright envious sun, when your light, hitting my eyes, killed my glory. and my luck is over. If the sky is no longer less powerful, why not give his more anger, lightning, as to your son, give you death.

That the stars were dew; that the heat, the snow. He was wrong. That your skirt was your blouse; that your heart was her home. He was wrong. (She fell asleep on the shore. You, on the top of a branch.)

I know very well that you will be told that life has no object that is a miserable matter. So always remember what I wrote one day thinking of you as I think now. Life is beautiful, you will see how despite the sorrows you will have friends, you will have love. A man alone, a woman so taken, one by one are like dust, are nothing.

As all things are full of my soul You emerge from things, full of my soul. Sleeping butterfly, you resemble my soul, and you resemble the word melancholy. I like you when you're quiet and you're like distant.. And you're like a whining butterfly in a curl. And you hear me from afar, and my voice does not reach you: let me be silent with your silence. Let me speak to you too with your silence clear as a lamp, simple as a ring. You're like the night, quiet and starry. Your silence is starry, so far away and simple.

I want to be the weeping gardener of the land you occupy and manure, soul mate, so early. Feeding rain, shells and organs my pain without instrument, to the discouraged poppies I will give your heart for food. So much pain is gathered in my side, that it hurts me to the breath. A hard punch, a cold blow, an invisible and murderous axe, a brutal push has knocked you down.