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old man, white season..

is not about gifts is all about.. g i f t s

i thought my dreams were reasonable but they are anything but that..
i suppose i sleepwalking or lost some in translation of the ideas and paths..
the things i can think being true is seems to be rather wrong all along the way and changeing lanes is near to imposible task without you and your heartbeat to beat in my chest..
wakeing up without you make me lose the beauty of a morning dew and the mist around your forehead.. and the kiss.. the big french kiss
i wonder if stoleing the christmas is still a valid idea.. i think it is not, to much red or green make the whole world.. well.. spin and be thankfull for some-thing/time/where near the chimney..
so i suppose my whole idea of this kind of season strings is not red or green, is not crowdy or tight and definetely it is not in so many words..
it is in your arms.. with a flute made of lips and fingers.. under the siege of a closeing space and for all the remaining time..

is not about gifts is all about.. g i f t s

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