September is to take the train without luggage, finding a good place to look out the window and decide what is the impulse to stop living.
September has the taste of hot wind that ruffles memories.
September is the ground and covered, desire and tenacity, biscuits and hot coffee in large bowl.
September has your scent.
September is all that I could give you.
September is until you run out of breath to speak.
September is back to the future and believe in your abilities.
September is sleeping with a blanket that he had placed a lifetime ago.
September is a finished puzzle, made of interlocking, smelling hugs and love of newspapers.
September, I read somewhere, is a good time to start over.
0 comments:
Post a Comment