hopping and kicking,
walking straight.


x_x

Here I come again.

papapapa papapapa papapapa...


Merry Christmas.

Se quedo en el invierno
lo que siempre se queda en el invierno
que jamás se encuentra en el verano.
Y comienza la pelea de nuevo
con martillos y portones.



x_x

under the sweet sound of trompetas y clarinetes on the way to mistery and uncertainty.

But you never will.

I miss walking between trees and feeling their cold whisper.
No more long hugs in the middle of exhausting dreams.
No more of that unwanted desire of being somewhere else.
No cats and trained dogs on hotel rooms.
White squirrels that don't speak my same language.
Long rides and gatorade.
Cows and gas.
Pollo y cerveza.
Rough guitar strings choking me.

It would be easier, but it wouldn't be right.


x_x