I think about sun and dreams and all that is left behind are water drops and fog after waking up and descending from the sky. I try to become the spark of a hand on the white stone, I try to drink the green, but the beatitude it's to trivial and the unconsciousness of the dream becomes more real than life itself. I let my soul fly ant reach the blue and by being behind it, it fels down like an arrow to take a little of an preposterous human feeling.
But now it is to late and I have no time to go...and come back before the sun melts down in the noncolour of big city lights.
I hope the eternity will stay there and wait for the soul to come back...
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