Star. You know everything about me. You shine your light on me. You speak to me in my language. And I? I just cacklelike a chicken at the sight of you, your radiance is so clear and fierce. I love the damn three kilometers that we walk every year. Those that are together. Those damn damn three kilometers, again and again twist on around thethe graves of our parents. I will explain to you what I expect from you: I need your heart. Your frantic soul, your sea, your sun and your moon. Your whirlwind, your hurricane, your tsunami. Your love.
For I am only a spikelet in the field. Without a soul, I can’t… happen, fail, stop.
Spring. They say in the spring the soul asks for a holiday. Mine does not ask. Mine just longs for impressions, new, bright, or old, proven.
Speak! Dear, tell me, I can no
longer resist your frantic desire to drive me under your heel! “Georg removed the perspiration from his forehead with a bright colored handkerchief and looked adoringly at his wife.
Explain to me, Georges. Whatyou
happened toin the last three years?” Georg's wife looked at her husband inquiringly, and a little condemningly.
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