Facing the wall, sitting with absolute blindness of someone who long ago had condemned the verb to dream of being ostracized. Only his hands caressed the cheeks of a face that did not suffer distortion, not laughing, not crying, not singing, not grimacing and if he did was lie. Indifference, that was their religion, sectarian faith hidden under the cushion.
passed so many years, but none in front of his eyes, passed so many feelings, but none of their feelings, they spent many states, so many experiences, but none for his soul ... Their alienation was so great that day believed to have gone completely mad. In front of his eyes, which had both seen and both had stopped seeing a fluttering butterfly. Anyone had tried to catch it in his hands, but it was not appropriate. The flight left, playing with the flow coming through the window behind him, finally enjoy what she already enjoyed a day.
The butterfly was gone, and she strongly urged the corners of his lips up, and stood up, He turned and fluttered are propelled toward your chest, which finally disappeared. I heard that was when it was invaded by so many sensations did not sleep or eat, he devoted himself to live, nothing more.
Cry, laugh, live, nothing is perfect ... we see that on days like today still look at the ceiling wondering if that would have provided a sitting position more happiness, more company, more understanding, more ...
Then you think you do not care, it's late to live.
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