15.7.09

shE

Fog in thE past and mist in thE futurE. Such is thE path to bE acknowlEdgEd if onE is to succEEd. Running is not prEcisEly moving, whilE standing still ain't a sound option to avoid any sort of dangEr. Gliding...It is such gErund what I havE EmbracEd and what spoonfEEds my hopEs and fEar. Among trEEs of liquid lEavEs or flippEr in flippEr with a purplE whalE, in thin air or a dEEp bluE sEa, fusing with brEEze or a warm currEnt, gliding could fEEl as night and day. MEmoriEs in a picnic baskEt nExt to sandwichEs and a handful of coffEE, prEsEnt to bE improvisEd at thE thought of such momEnt, and EvEnts to comE awaitEd with nothing but thinking of happinEss, awkwardnEss, compatibility, silly idEas, honEsty galorE and plain trusting. I carry smilEs in my EyEs, hEr kiss EvErywhErE and my hEart in thE pockEt. I am hErE for thE taking...YEt it is only shE who can rEach and hold mE.

It is in hEr sEa whErE I havE takEn a divE, thEn EncountErEd the warmEst watEr.

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