From the point of. disappointment (by F.w.)
The sensation of the sea in the eyes, the sensation in the body. Fibril oxygen pierces the sand, passing pagurus comes ran aground as a fundamental error. Passage of the pagoda. Night of the sea and even sea of night that advances. That hour becomes demanding, fulfillment of the loss to penetrate the horizon. One thing is humanity, everything in the grain of sand since _since strant to suspicion, core to the colonies of polyps. Serenity spells out his sheets, written with its effluvium of indigo snakes. The curds of foam, the drift of stars on the water. The feeling of calm just slow down time. The silence is creating another existence. We could have all ages, the blood does a beat. There is more space around the heart, the sea has invaded everything around. The face is lost.The mind has no law, the laws of induction. The body is him overwhelmed with an unreality. Every sense elude us, we miss nothing. There is no more rope to pull, there is no more disappointment than shipwrecks. We could lose all traces. It is the innocence of the wind that delete the names. It is the innocence face a force. No avail. The salt desires, the salt tears. We could be filled by disappointment. Where to drill the meaning? White smoke of seagulls. Cracks. Puddles. The vertigo of the night on a rain mirrors agonic. The old houses are elsewhere also to bear the heights. This absence is unlike a person only a metamorphosis until disease coincidences. You, you know to die altogether.
From the point of disappointment