always comes a moment when your demons and angels are quiet sleep, you never know what to write. And here comes on the third eye, you begin to tremble and you can not get away from the keyboard / paper / typewriter / toilet paper that you have in your hands, because the words come out natural and cradles you in the sweet sound that makes your mind , committed itself to dictate the next line of text, and run your hand between the buttons, or holding yet another pen (goose feather or pinhead, I have also seen people write with the nails but not I would do at home), speaking once again of how strong your love or burning your loss. But today I have no words because I am human again, and I have the same fear as when i was for the first time, and the same indifference, too.
When would you be and no one else, that's beginning to idealize everything that is around you, and you have the perfect love and take eight nine to school while you are studying two different sports and to walk her dog every day stop to help old women with trolley (sorry Dylan, you're a great guy, do not have it with you), or you lied every time you say "I love you."
And beneath all six hours without mincing words worth nothing, and all your hard work is not meant to be fulfilled, does not deserve the light nor the eyes of ordinary people rightly despise you. But no.
"You're just another normal person on this earth."
So ended the book, many words to say what he already knew. He was free?
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