the sunsets and the sun rises
creating each day and each night
and not once does it ask permission
the night will still be pink with light pollution
because of the single office illuminators,
found in every breathing building
the night shift family I never met,
will still glow behind little screens
or candle light thought bubbles and ink
the morning will still spill coffee all over him
but only on mondays, when he’s running late
mondays will always come
sunday mornings will still petition against alarm clocks
and sunday, hereself, will always win
it will rain and it won’t
either way, without me
a.m.

well everybody's world is another one so what to change?
you can not see things as they are just see them how you are
in fact you can not even see how they are
if any definition is just an approximation
or an alternation of the same thing

everything is a more or less a faithful translation
and the only performance in the field is love
yes love sees and feels "the same thing"
but it does not give you any explanation

it's a sublime free fall feels all like it's all
and not how it is

if you're realistic a moment you feel the way you are
without the impossible ambition to see the same thing
see love as a feast of unreality
which makes playing in another's skin a child's play
and a genius experience
to make it like the movies to be another being yourself

but to be realistic to the end is to give life the opportunity to be herself
to see for hereself to feel it all as it is
without interference in her internal affairs

the vanity of love is that it is a giveaway to likelyness
even beyond life but can not save the world
it can only make it better

let everybody's world be different
and that's the freedom
and that's all you can love