people read , people write , some crying , others join hands , it is a prayer , a taste for the good things , but when I see them, I am often alone, because insofar as I round the garden , I take notes to remember the names of the flowers, the rose is beautiful , and lila, there , here, now , for the moment, and then I think it 's time Price from , will I go straight into my city , I'll take a ride , I feel grow wings , it's a bit due to her when she told me that dinner was ready, I I believed , and we lived together for years to go talk to an incredible stock of words exchanged , always with the same pleasure to do, so why I 'm afraid it stops, I know that in life nothing lasts , the penalty like fun , so if that's how I 'm going to leave one day, so that everything is true, there must be a lie, but for years I pay attention , what is the common area, what is the best way to get there , what to do to get everything ready , a gesture, a jacket , paper , glue tube and love that drives me yesterday to see that everything is fragile, c is as thin as a leaf falling in the autumn, and in the room there are more bed, everything went by train 8 hours , it must be present and not look back, because c ' is a transition , it should take a little time , time to get all the feelings that are the tables of common life , the people we know , the words that leave, the records are marked where the orders yesterday, when everything was as before, no worries while sleeping , while sleeping , everything is taken there remains nothing else, but when the time comes everything collapses , the urge goes away, it remains that sharing to