CARAVAN OF FEELINGS

Right now, it still looks like we are clumsily sticking our heads on the arms of the silence of Calvary. The blood-red glowing caravan of Twilight seems to want to drive away the billions of fiery silver stars from the balmy sea. The golden sand dunes really burn our skin; it's still so good to feel the microcosm of your looks; we faithfully guard a tiny, more precious, immortal slice of the Universe in the depths of our golden hearts, where only the two of us can fit.

- The years' worth are worthless! Being - sooner or later - is just normal in its own way. There wouldn't be much trouble with the change, so to speak, if the intention didn't remain behind as a loyal friend, and there is a doubt as to what other people think about the state of our physical and mental balance that is called permanent?! - There is no need for conquest for heartbeats to find their way to us; in the elevator shafts of the inner self, it is appropriate to cherish the orphaned, babbling childish self, which distinguishes it from the camp of absolute adults.

- Out there, you can still feel the peevish scramble, pushing, positioning at every post of Being: there is no real need for them, because what is really important is already inside us, because Goodness was created! We should never reveal our walled-up instincts. And although the wills born free often get tangled up in interest or manipulation these days it is becoming more and more common; the awareness that you cannot change the things that have happened often pushes the boundaries of the peripherals. We know: We can cross the rough, wild waters of time to the far, unknown shore only by counting on each other, holding on to each other, tooth and nail...