Knocks

Zepp stopped.His stainless pen nib made points at the the end of the sentence.The phone at the den was ringing repetitively before he realized that.He glancing at the return flight ticket to a not so famous state in Europe had been held ,depend on when and how long he would go . What to do and not to do at all . Could he have such options? He just daydream,if only he got options that much .

He shuffled in a narrow room as a savior of hopelessness in the pouring rain of the wet and cold month of December when the leaves are freshened , the season folds hands, hides the little wind, innocently asks "what's going on there..? There ,it's a new year !

Wanting to draw the ocean waves.. Painting the light and gripping the wind and water ripples through anything l 'm unable I thank you for the piece of passion of my dry soul and tiredness...breathe ! The sinking ship of your life, the ocean is rock that rolls over you when you want to get up and embrace the loneliness
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