quarta-feira, 28 de março de 2012



Fantasies created by the mind of a weak man. Children that play in the bottom of the sea, old men that play cards on the highest of mountains. The beat of the music between your ears, the strings of a guitar that slide throw your fingers. Dreams that were cached by a pen and slammed in a white sheet. Our deepest memories scattered and altered by those that live inside of them. What was then what we knew now is nothing but a mere thought. People we know, their faces, their hearts. Songs that we’ve sang, their lyrics forgotten. Places we’ve seen, nothing but fog. Nothing is certain, everything’s a mystery in a realm that we created inside our minds.

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