The state I'm in
recently (and lately I mean an indefinite but relatively long segment of right temporal - auqnue I refuse to accept the idea of righteousness in time) I'm feeling like dawn. Yes, Dawn. Not talking about waking up early and go to school, work, start playing the jeuguito civilized person, stop dreaming and start being what we are not. It is dawn, a natural phenomenon and every day, completely alien to me, but it is not dawn. I speak of the verb, the act completely personal and intimate of dawn. Not a fact, but rather something that is a certain mornings. One comes to life at once but not stop dreaming. Maintain the flow of time dream. And the curtains have a slightly different color, the coffee smells better, waking up in the bright sun, white strangely before noon.
The smell of orange blossoms of bright light in the morning, that.
Also, smell the chance, but that is another matter.
Dawn. Ser Ser
morning. Lift
blinds. Light through curtains. Frosted Flakes milk. Smelling cinnamon.
Love ...
... That must be it.
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