Paragraph two. Words in the white space. No lines, no finish point. Just ideas escaping with each beat of a lost song in the network. Thinking in the ideas without language. With the sound of a through look, but the impossibility to connect the present with the past. It's the time of Sunday night. A time to still without any hope. A time to observe without explanations or the necessity to prepare the future. Time without seconds of reasons. A vision of the nothing because to rest alive, sometimes the blank allows to reset the mind. A silence of the ideas without the worry to creating tomorrow. To build a Monday with inspiration.
8:35 p.m. Time re-starts to be noticed. So, the heartbeats are the noise of the seconds. And the moment is finish to write how the life with the concerns to rest alive is important now. Survival. Become a memory for years and years. The great questions about the future and the present are important now. It's impressive, how in five minutes, the contemplation of the real world changes to a view liable to destination. The moment when the words take a sense. A sense to recognize the acts to have dreams.
The last lines of today. Sunday at night and the week presents all hard realities. A world surviving in a miracle of the existence. The silence is over and the music calls the rules and schedule of the future mornings. There are not an ending point for the lines of the contemplation time but the vision of tomorrow with rules. The machine of the clock of the life has fed the moment ouf of the time to continue."
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