3rd Childhood by César Eduardo

At the moment I can only catch the echo of a response. The world surrounds me, eating at a rate in which hearts achieve their maximum pulsation. Exactly, as the triple waters cascade I implore that Essence maintains strides of particular invention within and outside every creature. Forget the still points. The whole journey is up ahead, fresh and merry to be penned by the third child in me. The Sun smiles, the numbers frolic through the square, a translation of the ducklings I’ve beheld almost in trance. Straight down the field, some midget palm trees are quivering…

I shall celebrate this day with my entire family, grappling a sentiment until those eyes of emerald absorb it and I’m thus set free. The story wasn’t new. I can probably finger count the inscriptions on the clouds of smoke released by past companions, relating their pilgrimages toward peaks where they would find ethereal countenances. Perhaps the same fixation has led me to believe in such a destiny, though I am conscious of the year developing around the traces of a Lone Wolf. Behind my back, I smell scarlet begonias!! Then, the flow of pollination registers the parody of an age.

Hobbies shall not remain secret. Explaining attitudes has been nothing but for a purpose of sportsmanship. I could place a similar sapphire ring next to middle finger and say it’s just for cruise control. It doesn’t matter any longer. Resurrection is a game of shadows continually ascertaining the light factor. Tomorrow is no less stable than well-carved cacophonies. My conception of a romance, once engaged, is tied to prudence and is justifiably delectable when the dust accommodates such desires with utter patience. Alas! We both have waited for so long to grow these wings: now death equals fecundity!!!


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