In short, I moved. Vado here, for reasons that have not yet fully understood, but I can assure you, when you prove to me seem silly and it will be too late. In fact this house is still standing - no one touches it - but I packed and moved all their belongings. And no, this metaphor of the move I do not like it: I would rather talk about this step as a preparation for migration, such as when you are bringing a close-essential for making thousands of miles on foot. I would have preferred to write an obituary, but I feel like the one that starts from the UK to go to pasture in California, because its the British woman drank wine and smoked the stuff, bitch, and So it goes with the dream of a world of sweet maidens, including immune and syphilis. Then there is, in California, and Pearl Jam stealing the story. Do you remember this story?
The beauty of the journey is the journey itself? I would not say, in this case, unless you want to hear about CSS (not the Brazilian group). The beauty of the journey are the places to run away and where we find shelter, and the enchanting space-time that separates them. Meanwhile
You feel a bit 'here, then we'll talk about there.
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