Little vacant frown

she was wondering, she liked this place I lived because she lived four great years here. she wanted to fall sleep, and next day wakes up over there, in the bed or somewhere. Life is passing, sometimes glamorous, it shines and rains and drops and frays. I am not completely sure. Colors are for her, to bloom and experience and build from scratch. Huge tinge of easiness in her looks: it will be. It will be. What if I sleep over there and wakes on twilight, in the floor or flowerbed? Sunbeams are suitable, wind is mild and weather! Weather is sweetest. she stumbles around in the busy floor, walk the fingers on tenuity of mine – which is scattered and pasty freed in the ground. She walks the fingers on. Tip top, tip top, tip top and eyes finally get awaken:
“Today is a better day, why? Let me smell. Toward lines and leafs and ivies and, what a weird smell!”
I cock my head to squint on and then I follow the steps to see silence nearly more than fluidity eternal. I received the note, on my mind: “labyrinthine life of downtrodden”: this page is devoted to literature of pain and elegance. Letdowns and Yasmine and little vacant frown.