Si parca azi o venit primavara mai tare decat la inceputul saptamanii.Un soare linistit scalda bulevardul cu cantitatea optima de raze UV si caldura, si aerul avea inca tenta rece a iernii plutind printre particulele de oxigen.Si ce mod mai bun de a te bucura de astfel de conditii decat sa faci slalom printre tarabele de vanzatori de flori si alte chitibusuri marunte menite sa aduca un strop de fericire pe fetele celor dragi.Sau daca bugetul este mai nelimitat, poti sa faci concurs cu alti clienti in florarii sau bijuterii sau alte spatii comerciale care is mai de "fitze"
Oricum, din nefericire nu prea am reusit sa ma bucur de saptamana asta prea mult pt ca m-o prins o raceala rebela.Toata iarna am fost ok, nici nu simteam frigu', si numa ma trezesc luni cu nasu' infundat si o voce de canal veritabila.Acuma ma simt exact ca si in momentul ala cand vrei sa stranuti(exact secunda aia dinaintea furtunii).Si deja is gata sa ma duc la preot sa platesc pt o exorcizare.Sper ca o sa functioneze toate chestiile alea cu nume ciudat luate de la farmacie.Nu stiu cum dracu' reusesc sa creeze numele alea pt medicamente.
Tale of a sad man
Just one day
Without his
drug if he’ll stay
His heart
will turn black
His eyes
will melt
With anger
and pain
His look
will remind of chaos
And so he’ll
toss
Away all
that he once cared about.
The black
crow sings the chant of death
For another
lonely soul life will turn into suffer
they can’t
be one without the other
yet they
can’t live together
only one
shall remain
strong, to
endure the pain
the other
will fall
in agony he
will crawl
with his
soul broken in pieces
searching
for the missing wonder.
It seems
that for the lover
There will
be no tomorrow
If he
doesn’t find his place
In the diary
of Jane.
He hates her
so much
Yet she is
more precious to him than air and water
Her strange
perfume
That sings
him the tune
Of life and
death.
But what has
he become?
No longer a
human
Not a trace
of happiness
No a shadow
of kindness
He is blind,
no more he can see
For he is
buried in his misery.
Suffering
whenever he is not near
Her, the
source of his curse,
But he
cannot stop
She is his
little sunshine
That enlightens
his day
And warms
his sorrow.
And she said
That he is
her lucky star
Her knight
in shinny armor
And that
she’ll never go away
But how much
of this is truth
And where
the lie begins
No one can
say.
That sad
look on his face
There’s only
one that can erase.
Only one
until forever
No one else
Not now or
ever.
Although he
still awaits
His heart is
always the same
When they
hug and put their lips
Together, in
a kiss.
Nici in cutia de ajutorare a saracilor nu se mai introdusese demult vreun banutz.
A doua zi dimineata pe usa sinagogii a aparut, cu majuscule, o instiintare:
“Un barbat casatorit din cartier are legatura cu o femeie necasatorita.
Daca pana maine dimineata nu apare o bancnota de 100$ in cutia saracilor,voi fi nevoit sa-i dezvalui numele.”
A doua zi a gasit in cutia saracilor 25 de bancnote de 100$, una de 50$ si un bilet:
“Mei, amana pana maine ca sa fac rost de bani !
No, la multi ani inca odata!
Serus!...
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