GOOD Sunday
Who ..... still see the world through the astonished eyes of a child
who knows how to open your heart to love ... ..
Who ... spreads its wings to the discovery of a new heaven and is not satisfied with the quiet life ...
Who .... can listen to the words and still more the silence ...
Who ..... always has time for a hug ...
Who .... has experienced the pain and that is why he loves life more ...
Who ... knows how to smile with his eyes and his heart because he knows the price of tears ..... women like me, shows the first wrinkles because they speak of life lived with both hands ... and men who know how to love them for who they are ...
Who ... the broken-hearted but never tires of travel to the island that there is ...
Who ... has a crazy dream in the drawer ...
Who ... no longer dreams but does not give up and try again ... and finally ...
good Sunday ... to my saved souls ... that life is sweet with us and those we love ...
who knows how to open your heart to love ... ..
Who ... spreads its wings to the discovery of a new heaven and is not satisfied with the quiet life ...
Who .... can listen to the words and still more the silence ...
Who ..... always has time for a hug ...
Who .... has experienced the pain and that is why he loves life more ...
Who ... knows how to smile with his eyes and his heart because he knows the price of tears ..... women like me, shows the first wrinkles because they speak of life lived with both hands ... and men who know how to love them for who they are ...
Who ... the broken-hearted but never tires of travel to the island that there is ...
Who ... has a crazy dream in the drawer ...
Who ... no longer dreams but does not give up and try again ... and finally ...
good Sunday ... to my saved souls ... that life is sweet with us and those we love ...
There are times when I feel the need to stop to look inside ... to see to believe .. or to see to believe .. the node is this .. I would like to see and then believe .. while life teaches me to believe without seeing ..'ll count my steps ... if not what are the beat of the music .. No more running smorzerà my breath ... than that which runs from here to eternity .. Never again .. ever "whisper my mouth, if not what preliminary nell'ingenuità of hope .. .. My time belongs to me always, although sometimes too short because it could take consciousness ... other times too long because it can lose track ..
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