I have a new large window, haughty, cold, dark and rich women who do not have to struggle to feel at all. Is there doing nothing, devoting themselves to be beautiful for all to admire as she willing to have a garden view. Do not know likes to keep secrets or dirty, so he hides and waits in silence to lure visitors who come in with dirty shoes. He laughs at people who stamps with it is your hobby, besides upsetting your cat can not cross to bed in the room. However, sometimes it makes us think and masquerades as an umbrella so that we never rains on the head (at least literally). We clothes, cares, let the sun kiss your face when we should not sleep more.
And I sometimes go to bed at her, thinking it is not just a strange lady would not let me see the street or eavesdrop on your neighbors. I miss my gazebo and my sky blue, robin flirt who used to go to visit. I miss the old stories, the people who stayed there and I wonder if the new ever know how much I loved my old house and frameworks that served as the telescope for my lyrics. Anabel Casillas is dissipated in new roads where there are no more ghosts or purple flowers out of the vine.
Resignation. A laugh with the woman and her prints. Someday I will stick my whole face against it to get my nose deformed and all made fun of me. Other days will press the tube in the glass to my kisses are painted and my mom was very angry. A poet must feel, watching her mother, "I say seriously, I have to experience to write. I need to know, hitting, yelling to see if someone listening to the other side. Examine it, deepen it, gosling know if you smell like the rest of the house. Feel like children do to always remember that I am alive, strong, excited, so eager to write ...
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