You won't return more, but your smiles, your voice they stay, as well as the charms of your sweet glance.
Your spirit hovers in our sad minds, always in the memory that you put in the love, always in the concern of your immense attention.
The death is the memory of the life, which the alive ones sit down.
The powder of the time accompanies the death and there all will meet. All have an insured room, there is no hurry. Everything is composed of death. However we are going living in the illusion of the life, while the hug of the death is always made present. It seems that we insisted on living, as if he never happened dying.
But the sweet memories feed our inspirations. The life is a tenuous moment of an impossible dream, because the death if it puts upon him.
It is the fuel of the love that inaugurates the life. Our emotions are the unrestricted desires of the incomprehension of the love.
The paradise is, therefore, the death, the liberation of the bestiality of the life.
The ship of the destiny the waters, and in their main rails we leaned over in the thoughtful ones, reliving the undone dreams, steering in the only certainty that afflicts us: the death.
He rests in peace in the lake, in the vegetation and in the surrounding mountains. And that her ephemeral beauty accompanies you, greet you. That us alive, no matter how much we do will never win any battle of the army of the death.
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