"If, the story starts by the end?. There are not smoke over ruins, only the fog on a day that ends and has been cold. At night, from the sky the stars are in the land. Yellow, green, white, blue..., a line moving souls in bright. What size is sufficient to be a city? Some people said that is how big is the quantity of suspires and dreams. It can be the amount of longings. In any case, the habitants resist the frustrations and they want their dreams. Everyone but not all. In the end of the story, the sunset arrives without any landscape to observe. Only a white roof.
A day is the only measure that we are sure. The rest can easily be forgotten. Promises, love words and of course, the questions. Why the questions are more important that the answers?. The fog passes quickly and the words are not sufficient to build a phrase to compite against the late afternoon. The reality get dark during some seconds: I don't sure if I'm wrong... in any case same the past was an illusion.
In the fundamental questions, the numbers about the answers that really conduce to something to be better the journey, they can be related in phrases of death men. How many times, a man is capable to accept that he is wrong? The same times that a woman is capable to recognize (Today, without or with oppression) that passion and desire are covenant sensations in a world in destruction. And of course, the times that the people, the mass of humans, it is capable to not be victim, but yes responsible and sometimes culpable. Nevertheless, the dance in the streets remains, fortunately.
How about is it?. A ship rest in the deep sea while and thousand of songs are heard for the first time in the cities. Yes, I'm wrong, I don't have any new thing to say..., except that I love you... but after three years nothing happens. The songs go through what is left of air, and the last part of the mountain disappears in a horizon of buildings and broken hearts. In other times, the ship was important because is the vault of all new forbidden songs. Songs with moans and tears that are convenient, but it is not important. The ship could be a pirate boat with all is sins inside. And the songs, murmurs that are easily forgotten. Like the silences for her.
In the perfect world, is Friday night. The social mobilisation pauses to get some sex tonight. The frustrations come, however the preparation and the production of the body and the clothes. The money in the pocket are not sufficient for this night, because at the end is not a question of money, is the value. The value of the appearance, the likes and views of a story happening more than on the lines of an agenda. More than the choruses of the murmured songs and the laughter with smoke and beer smell. Despite the wine in other circles, the laugher still everywhere in the cities that remain standing. "
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