Another Friday in solitude ... The kilos up, hope is proportional low ... like a seesaw. There is negligible down, right?
feel like when you're insulated, and the skin begins to cortajear. Now I can take my dead skin layer, like one who takes the plasticola when dry. I'm ugly, disharmonious, but it hurts less and less. And down the dead skin is Nuevitas. Just dare to remove it, or else wait until fall. Some adults want more limits to children. Some other women weeping mother made them. Some well-known therapist would say that all our wounds are simply mistakes mom. Me too I'm missing, feel cradled, look, her hair, grown. As all bah.
I have the softest heart, tail harder and more realistic look. That desire to be more brave, and get on the waiting world before the arrival of a savior with sequins. Basically
changed. She tells me that matured on that link, I did not lose dignity, and that women continue to be born. I changed the furniture, I lost my cell phone, tore papers, I gave everything, and meditated. In all my dreams are shamanic. I talk to every person who believed lost. She hugs me one is coming. And heal those links that are open like wounds exposed to worms. Is closed, clean. And I open.
bit is missing, something is changing. What you call God lives in you as you are, without changing anything. And if one would like to give up comfort and philosophy, to lose control and understand every step of the journey as a signal. It comes to fruition: eat, pray and love.
I'm eating!
who helps me prune this tree will not let me see the forest who accompanied me to transit?, who celebrates what's behind me?
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