Swim Platform Trolling Motor

Charter

now would be walking together and talking of those endless topics that we lack. I like that, from time to time to talk, and sometimes let the dialogue of breathing and strokes set the tone of the issues that we are never finished.

Similarly makes me laugh your little nose breathe on my neck and lost in my hair, find your eyes to turn over flashes of vision and following you in the dark again with smell and touch and sounds and everything but the eyes. I think that with the eyes just look at you go, in contrast with the other senses keep you by my side.

guess your next step, rediscover your figure in my hands and it is fixed in my body, as the chemical process of photography.

is good too, that from time to time, we forget a little about each other and in a sneak attack from memory, you appear in my thoughts and my chest tightening, point my hands and I call a way or another, but you call.

Other days, in which wandering aimlessly, we are and that is when we realize that we wanted, in seeking and finding grace is often the key to never know everything, and always wanting to find out.

I think I still have a number of smiles, tears, of laughter, looks, touches, caresses, des meetings and encounters, desperate cries, torment and bitter struggles within our bodies meet the other, like animals to hide, cuddle each other, sleeping and not sleeping nights, that the two are good things.

find what hurts now, compared to my memories, and know you have spent days and your words echo in my chest and your eyes lost in me eyes, and knowing that you are distant, almost absent (I say almost because I cling to the memory and each time I call, but no longer respond); sorry watched from a distance, awkward, desperate, assuming that at any moment you stop loving me or worse, you never loved me. I walk twice those routes that did not lead anywhere, and I carried you, but now I should carry you, and do not take me anywhere.

I shed the words of Whitman, Benedetti, Dalton and many others, just to fill my head with my own words that you write, but write me full of doubts, ask me answers that do not answer them because I myself do not even understand myself and desperate This time I know that in a longer only be the memory of a pain, but now it hurts like hell, and not something that causes me more peace of mind to stay with that pain, at least a while longer, at least to understand.

My field of battle - once marked by your figure shooting and cats in the crowds and the times susceptible to being caught by my camera - no longer so attractive, if I met you in one of my photos, now you static discharge without even seeing a photo.

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