as ye wish, and I offer
awkward when I bump into the furniture, give me the corners of the cabinet and this me fingers doors. I am extremely awkward when my feet do not walk it back, ankles rub against each other, knees tremble with nervousness if people revolve around me with that air of ridiculousness hungry vultures. Words get tangled in my tongue, as if they were afraid that someone will take on less intelligent. I need that sense of tranquility that will invade the normal days where you know that anything will be as always and nothing will go down an abyss. Nor redness on the cheeks, or shaking hands, or excessive segregation Adrenalize. Just one day without fire, without being targeted by laughter, not wanting to escarvar in wounds.
So please, if you want, we go for a while to live within a sonnet bombastic. The wish, and as you want. Sunday
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