I got a strawberry crunching on my mouth.Is the beating of this blood, in every bite a little taste a little why. Being real, have a slice of a trifle of finding a bit of why.- Oh, when will I know that even dawns and downs are raising?

La Gioconda draws that modern love. In a time when only half of her fair smile was allowed. A portrait in profile but she turns, confident, reaching three quarters. She left the mirror on the table, she no longer needs it. She had already found herself... I look for the one who inspires me inside a picture. Sometimes I think I found her, other times I think: It is her or the lights shining? Perchance the woman, because being so special, so beautiful, and of one's own. Cannot be found with ease. A photo gets to catch a little of her and lets the rest run. Be real to say what? I don't know yet, but she seemed to. That why she smiles. Look where she looks. She is who you are.

I was little, I asked her once to make me fly and she replied: - Oh dear, fairies don't need to walk, but they do it cos they're amazing.

Every time life pauses. I realize that's not my car, nor all the things I bought to lure attention. I realize it's me. I crave to see myself in the mirror. Smiling, crying, for me. Reminding that either in New York or my room. I'm a woman, a girl, whichever. Me until reach last. With every blow alive. I inhale and a day passes, exhale and night goes. I stretch around, turning the sheets on my bed. And look at my reflection on a turned-off television... I taste it: I'm the girl on tv. The one from yesterday, the one from today, the one that does not go by.

Why is main? A girl smiles. And life, caged in the shadows and tricks gets dye and ceases dim for a jiff. She becomes great, marvelous as those heroes who accompanied childhood but forget. Women come and go. I would like to stay them, take some of the hand. A feel joins out of shadows. She, who I didn't know, turns bright and I will no longer forget her. A share of now, as sharing a taste of strawberry. The jolly of her loving eyes could convince me of everything. A day is not a rehearsal. Its life, mine. I go to bed... tomorrow, well. -Darling, I'm a cloud Do I need the sun when I'm upon it?