Looking in the night, shadows pass by, someone in the dark, and my skin began bristle.
Just some people in the streets, nothing more than that, just a whisper in the wind, and everthing colapse.
In an apartament, isolated in the big cosmos, of this metropolis, where all people want to be bright stars, on an aeroplane, flying in the skyies, just remembering the past, the future, the present, everything you see...
It fade away, everything that makes a sound, all that moves, all that cries, ghost of a love one.
The little man of the ragged bag just see you now, asking you where did you began to stop believing, where did the ,magic flew, where did the skies began to be the limit,
"When the heart, has stoped felling emotions of a sad remember, the happiness of the moment, there, my friend, there, just is a blues of a broken soul"
Wise words of the man of the ragged bag, his stomach a ball, his legs two sticks of wood, holding up an elephant
He screams some truth in his tales of bravery of explorations and adventures, he had some real things talking about his prizes of bottle caps.
Imagination?
Or just the real life, of an awesome man?
Walking in the crowd, he dissapears in the lights, of this skies that are my limits, because the stars of people, are to bright.
YOU ARE READING
The Lonely Walker Diary of Stories
FantasyIn the evening, when the people stop to think, the city becomes jungle, and survive is the priority, is there when, if you walk, you will find the stories at the night, how mothers with no money cry, why the old man protects the plant at moon light...
