Aveeno, Neutrogena Cetaphil

Claude Monet. Fields of Bezons. c.1873. Oil on canvas. Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Gemäldegalerie, Berlin, Germany.

The sunlight flooding a sea made of grass, flowers, colors. The waves of that sea swinging in the breeze that blows from the east. The smell of the wind caresses the petals and smiles. Laughter Argentinian rolling on the lawn. A man and a woman over there, lying among a multitude of flowers, hugging, looking at the games of the clouds in the blue. Light, happy, oblivious of time. Hand in hand. A child chases her cat in the grass. Then he is distracted by a flock of birds flight, while the puppy chasing butterflies dream.

A noise imperceptible at first, then gradually more powerful creeps into the picture. A crackling sound, like an intense and prolonged creak. S'offusca the sky, the sun seems to weaken the intensity of its rays. The colors begin to fade. Drip away, as it melts. A soft meow and then the noise. The child disappears. The man disappears in a gust of wind. No meow.

The woman remains on the lawn. with sad eyes. clutching pieces of paper between her fingers moist. He closes his eyes. He knows what is going on, but still wants to keep the image within.

Then he raises. Opens his eyes. The rattling ceased. Tap the walls of the room. Pull down the wall those strips of colored paper, colored decomposed. And he realizes that there is no grass nor a man nor a child and even a cat. There are only walls between herself and life. The sun is a lamp that is going round in short.

Then the dark. And the silence.

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Is Alopecia Areata Barbae Bad?

Night

Edward Robert Hughes. With the Wind. Coloured Chalks on gray paper.

Bounce wait
between the words that I said
between a smile and a trick
in the folds of a line interrupted.

rolls away

this time broken the spell of my silence your voice
shadow Inconstant.

rings night elusive
while weaving their hair and fingers, as I observe with eyes
children
poetry of a secret revealed.

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Panty Initiation Sorority

This is no longer a country for ..... anyone!


Title says it a lot ... I love Italy, I do not like it anymore ... it has nothing to offer us neither young nor adults. E 'became a country in which the values \u200b\u200bwere lost, which counts only be smarter and dishonest than others, in which morality is becoming the abnormality.
But the worst thing is that this is now too long, a country which no longer allowed to dream, dream of a better life, dream of being cherished dream of being able to have a house .....
"Studies? Here in Italy does not matter a fuck" ... How right Checco Zalone .... and how we got reduced.

I'd like to go away (do not run away, that I done at 28 years and it did not do anything) ... I'd go to a country where dreams still exist .....
There, I said I'd like to live in America ... but not in the Big Apple, where you're nobody if you do the miserable life worse than here ... I'd like to live in a small town, the kind where you go walk, where you know everybody and everybody knows you ... those where you have the house with the garden .... where to celebrate Thanksgiving.

I do not want to have big dreams by managers (those they have killed me ).... but maybe I'd have a shop ... and more than anything else ...... I'd like to live Misia ' Estero, which does not grow in this place now extinct, where his life would be like the mediocre Most of us ... where maybe you could make the Cheer Leader and choose the best university .... where could dream ..... and realize his dreams.

But there is still that America ... where anything is possible? Or is it just a dream?

Adapter For Sportscraft Dart Board

Inventing a secret dream

Here's the story I wanted to invent a memory, a last reminder that it was worth. I know that is not true. I know it is just a dream with no sense. [...] But if I want to to forget her and forget to come up with a dream?

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"The stories are like this.
One morning you wake up
and say, 'It was just a fairy tale ...'
Smile you.
But deep down do not smile at all.
You know that fairy tales are the only truth of life. "

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry , Letters to a stranger

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Erro No Maple Story Server Dc

dying without dying

Egon Schiele. The hug. 1917. Oil on canvans. 100 x 170 cm. Österreichische Galerie, Vienna, Austria.

Come. Come on. Like this you kiss. We pack. I drag you. You key in the dark, glowing darkness, open, black, hidden reverse swallow or so blue, black, throbbing. Oh so, so, anxious, soft lips, wavy, pink skin or soft corals, so fine. So, so, absorbed, more, more, sucked. Thus, all the time. From a distance, from the deep, sweet ointments separated, loved, drunk with a frenzy of desperate love. My only, my only, lonely food, my wet, dripping into my mouth, slid into my being. Love. My love. Oh, oh. I regret. You're hurting me. Grattami, LIMAM, pants you in me, and begins again, with teeth and throat, dying in agony, making it again, dying again, so forever, forever, in the dark, burning darkness, yoked night, love, dying without dying, love, love, love, eternally.

Rafael Alberti, Songs for Altair

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Sperm Life In The Cervixs

The small box

William Merrit Chase, antiquarian shop. 1879.

The Old Curiosity Shop was hidden in a dusty road at the crossroads between Vico de 'Poets and Piazzale forgotten. The number 7 melancholy hung hand-painted banner next decades and so worn by time that it was difficult to discern the letters. It was rare to see someone go. There enters into unknown streets and more dusty. You never know where they might lead and how long could steal.

the same time that had stopped between the clock pendulum that looked out sadly from the window. The interior of the shop picked up no one knows what strange artificial sunlight, filtering through the folds of the furniture, playing with his golden shadows dust. On the top shelf, a small wooden box watching the life that flowed out of the window. Closed loops in heavy coats directed at a fast pace somewhere. A cat-eyed frightened that he had probably lost. The rain that fell on thin glass.

The small box had an invoice value. It was a little gem built a few centuries before and perfectly preserved. The grain of the wood telling an ancient story that few people would have been able to decipher. The interior, upholstered in red velvet, had contained many secrets and a few locks of hair. In the double bottom was throbbing soul music of rare beauty.

seemed like a perfect box but it was not. The mechanism inside was faulty, the notes do not bend as they should. Sometimes jams, and sometimes remained mute ... but when they played there was nothing that can compare. Mingled yearning and passion in them, pain and neglect, a love without end.

That box was left watching the world from behind a glass and waited for his chance to play, to get to the heart of someone beyond his imperfect mechanism, his music was valuable and deserved to be heard.

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Cubefield Start After First Cycle

The blackbirds that rain death from above

In Arkansas the battlements rained death from the sky and scientists do not know an answer to the strange phenomenon.

How Many Relpax Can You Take In A Month

Between 5 days Misia will begin nest!

What about?? rincorrrono and emotions that are mixed with fears overlap ... positive thoughts ...

One thing is certain: we have waited so long and in the end, this is the time to make them less suitable to begin this new adventure for a few weeks in fact, Misia has the "mother" Acute want to stay forever in her arms, does not want be left alone, even wants to sleep with us (something that never happened in 8 months old) need physical contact all the time.

If we add that for several days, is leaving everything on the front holes (3 hours in a row yesterday at the Infant Jesus), eyes closed and swollen, cold and cough ..... not even eat baby food to pay with the risk - more often - to skip a meal ... so its a good time to start.


... and if they were small signs?

Horizontle Slat Fence

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

The happiness is above all want to be what it is.

Erasmus, Praise of Folly

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