I have heard: the two wings that struggle across the wind to fly are the breasts that feed us and make us alive. Love is a word that spreads like a perfume in a dream. Did SHE come or did SHE leave?
When you dream of butterflies and caterpillars, when you have become a dream of caterpillars and butterflies, when the song takes you for a ride, are you the one who rides or are you the one who has become a song by being a rider?
What they say? LIVE. And we can taste a bit of eternity: in the other side of her dream. Mother and the other.
And I? Like you I will be dead and gone like death itself: just like that
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