Wedding Invitation Spreadsheet

day my parents cry ... Loss and Dating


cried with emotion, of life that comes and moves the time on a wild impulse, thoughtful, crazy day that changes us, sighs and eyes ...
cried to the joy of growing future births, in the Flood said the vessel wall and the faces of mothers who learn to be as you feel the seed germinate ...
cried before the delivery, that deep love is a given continuous, without measure, without apology, with primitive fury that we are, we went and cried ...
the challenge of the unknown and yet is worth fighting for anything to live the experience ...
wept at the meeting, that we moves, it moves us, transforms us, every moment with each other forever ... we adjust
cried at the word, that is born, that it is pronounced for the first time, the naming and christening, which calls us and breeds forever mourn the essence ... the eyes
who know us, before the first hug and sensitivity to the shock of the flood of kisses ...
cried to the conviction of knowing what path we want to go, to the certainties life and enlighten us to the questions that we struggle ...
cry at the blood that flows between us, before the skin is full of stimulation, before the talks that we recognize a thousand times between
friends or enemies ... We cried with joy, the imagination, utopia, in the wild need to fly beyond ourselves, to the creation and simple songs ...
cried in the rain and rained us together and we clean the penalties and accumulated rain water for tears and kisses ...
cried to the sensitivity of the other, to the small daily acts that leave a smile, thanks to the unexpected and the stars falling in our way ...
cried to the empty bars , in the solitude that walking on Sundays and on stormy nights when the checkout
touches our door ... We mourn with the coffee shared and an outstretched hand when we most need, to the unknown future and love letters are always appropriate ... We mourn with the violins
ringing in the distant rooftops, in need of darkness and a cigarette, to the touch that define our bodies and to the stolen kisses in the wrong times ...
cried at the warmth of the shadow that always follows the steps to the lookout for those angels that protect us, before the flood of words that occasionally need to say or write to Pour a bit of both gut feeling ...
cried before the shelled fruit flavor in our mouths, at the pleasure of chocolate melting in our language, to the authors who wrote to us without ever having met ...
mourn with those stories that are whispered slowly, as if they were spinning as they relate ...
weep at the silence, one we cuddled, to the magical moments that hold the needles clock, those who are forever, because I never forget them and will be repeated in our unconscious eternal ...
cried in front of us, loves, friends, family, children, we do every day, the backbone of our We basically
lives ... we all cried, because happiness is shared and tearfully hugged ...
A Amparo, Juliet and Mariano

soyurbana@hotmail.com Published in Journal

Prop, March 15, 2009

Restaurant Where Servers Are Rude To You

She told me sigh, told me to silence the slow path of the tear, I looked into her eyes and behind his glassy green, so many tears, I discovered that Women still loved the world that man had taken from his arms ...

detailed in his soft secret meeting it was one more in the big city and he a stranger who stole his heart, with a few words and silences ...

How to describe her, a little girl, daring to be a woman, saw his dreams all gathered, believed that history had so often armed in his head, was a reality brushed her shoulder.

Time Measurement of lasting love, many hugs, the intensity of the days that seemed to blow out of hand, in conversation or promises made in the middle of the night like two crazy people in his hands clasped they were one and there were thousands on each of their bodies ...

She whispered that it was his great love story and her voice broke because the visceral passions are hard to forget and the man swore that one day all that she never imagined she would receive, ran away with the wind like it never happened for her ...

She breaks, she says, not understanding, she seeks answers and silence has become their greatest enemy, he disappeared like a ghost that had been reincarnated for a while to live a story love and then leave without explanation, no goodbyes, perhaps because they are the most painful and marking the end ...

her as Penelope waiting and watching raving between nameless faces looking to find that familiar face that is etched in their retinas ...

He said he will go to look, no matter the distance, not even if you lose it, but his being, every one of your senses explode in solitudes, in tears compelling in aroma of jasmine, the same as he gave her, her skin is autistic to contact and their cries are drowned and detained in a while that got away ...

She needs to find, not only to understand his departure, she needs to recover, because the man who passed through its history, the most crazy and passionate when he left he stole her heart, took the win, deprived of life itself that ran through his veins and left him only sleeping breath, hoping they would forget ...

He does not know that she will go after her, he does not imagine that she cut off all physical distances and pass through all bodies needed to see him again, he does not know she is stronger than you think and with the intensity that was from memory, it will regain strength and the will to live ...

He must give explanations, he will have to return all shared memories, he will show his dark side and may not have all the words that summarize the reason for his departure ... He

mute, be afraid, be cowardly and then ask all the pardons that never would have generated ...

She will believe she will look into his eyes, her mouth felt kiss him, she becomes a woman but will not forgive him ...

And once recovered all its essence, which will leave foreign fly other lives, to find love and a night that recognizes and blankets, to stay just will not believe until you find the way vacuum darker and there is much regret pain of being so selfish and have literally become a ghost

aimlessly ... yet they do not know what will happen, but everything to find the exact time course and she will be there, learning to live again ...

Depth

Published in Journal, March 8, 2009

Travelers Singing Commercial

Magic Nights

Sometimes in these summer nights is to be carried to other places I like to be in silence and let me inspired by the words that I have the others, those who cross my way and unconsciously to make mark and erase ghosts ...

road puddles of stars, trampling a little dark side of the moon and plant a couple of kites in the sky to the other side and find someone to play with them.

lie a little in front of the church to repent and seek forgiveness then it is always necessary to wash the real blame.

chew the more philosophical questions and then reject any explanation of them, when the drunken attempt to reveal the shameful secrets.

drink the elixir of polluted air that tries to leave when the ghosts of the night perform cleaning and I agree with the tag lost wandering quietly and without any fixed destination.

Sometimes I am more Urban and let it enter my body stories, listen to obsession, with pleasure, to find the exact spot where the truth is mixed with the trappings necessary for anyone forget the essence of what is not was and wanted to be ... I write letters

invisible on park benches for someone, someday found, for which never arrived, and who, somehow, I keep waiting, but without the patience of Penelope.

let me read the destinations for the adventurous Roma who claim to know of other lives and choose the futures promising, because there are certain hours of the night too dark to find a black future.

I talk to my shadow, when you get bored of my lectures part to give taxi rides for night owls, those who listen to amplitude modulation and smell the cigar wet.

discover missing statues that refuse to remain in oblivion and back onto the path of repentance, strewn with excuses, false tears and appropriate speeches, but little sense.

I stand on the corners of the ladies of the night and we rented a little feeling to know what happens to their bodies and touching than ever ply their skins, try to figure out the list of customers preferred and hate all those who hurt their bodies do what they want.

Me hammock for a while in a barren, moon let me look and I refuse to be found when the tears my face to walk slow and torturous.

I inhale the mint that comes from the pots on the balconies and a piece of chocolate I put under the tongue to resist the anxiety of being held and to hear words of love, which always required a certain time and heal any existential dilemma. Leo

fire looks intense, but escaped when I want to burn.

intense line in the abyss I stand to seek a balance that few dare to walk and play, which girl, try not to fall, though not always succeed, which means skinned knees and tears biting pride.

decrypt messages from the stars, that continuously change their minds and give my best smile to strangers who cross my intent on nothing.

silent scream and run slowly through space, I feel absolutely my freedom is so simple that you can cover in one hand and vibrate throughout the body ... I love

nights like that are going on a little , quiet, poetic madness that take me and I go through as if it were a dream that ends at dawn.

Published Depth Journal, March 1, 2009