The day is in winter. The wind blows cold. The sky seen floating white flakes those miles, which in a whirling dance tune open show in the eyes of angels. Everything comes together, accelerating, idling,'m leaving the option of the madness of the wind that makes them dance. Belle compensation cold it generates, he orchestrates this extravaganza. Then everything stops. White stars arise without understanding. Obliged to stop. Separate front, rolled together to from a white curtain brilliant, dazzling, almost infinite. So quiet but still so beautiful. The wind is gone, leaving this show to so ephemeral delighted. But the snow remains. High hopes. Indefatigable. Sweet and cold at once, like to be loved but never touched. Memory may also be missing from this wind which bring to the front of the angels. Prisoner injured, it remains painfully chained to this rich history of wonders. Winter is his friend. Unconditional support of hope. Dreams too. The breeze is blowing
sometimes, promising a welcome return for days and nights do not leak again that happiness.
But winter leaves. And snow melting into tears tears. For even the hope was too worn out. As an enemy comes the sun shine, burn a little. But in an unexpected moment, just to warm her tears may lead to an ocean of dreams.
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