few months ago, a friend told me that participate in the contest Montblac Love Letters and I also invited me to participate.
My friend is an enthusiastic person, whatever he undertakes he does like someone preparing to conquer the world, with all power and fury, and it is one of those persons determined, although they may sometimes feel faint, early return to ring, if possible, with more strength and determination than before.
course, she wrote her letter and insurance and shipping. I had the privilege of reading it and I felt very beautiful and touching, I am sure that, if it did not win, anyway sde or letter will be booting the smiles and will beat stronger for a little while to menso more than one heart.
I decided I do not ever write anything. Really, I think that writing is not giving me any good. I was flattered when my friend suggested it, but when I entered the website of Monteblanco and read about 2 or 3 cards, I was unable to write something at that point.
Today, when I read the blog of my friend saying that participated in the contest, I wondered who would have written my letter, if I had put it seriously ... many faces and names crossed my mind, people, loved ones, pets, friends ... But what good is fooling myself? I am very clear on who it would have written.
Who can get me out of the darkest world of gloom and sullen my mind with a single smile, just laughs when I disarms even mischievousness is more tense than the columns of the Empire State, in that he stole the eyes Heaven and took possession of his light, which makes me ease the pain, or at least keep them in the drawer for a while with the sound of his voice, that of whose lyrics alive, and I think I understand but no, that I the world, the name spelling, revere her laughter, her body rest, its presence feel, its very existence is my breath, and surprises me every time with a new facet to venture did not expect. And it could
write because there are no words to describe what it feels like him, or to explain what it means seeing the world for a second, through the framework in which he sees.
No, I can not. There are no words. My love letters are written daily in feelings, heartbeats, smiles, sighs, laughter, surprises, beats, sounds, rhythms, images and even screaming. Montblanc does not fit in that I live, every day, with joy or sadness, and that only I understand.
My friend is an enthusiastic person, whatever he undertakes he does like someone preparing to conquer the world, with all power and fury, and it is one of those persons determined, although they may sometimes feel faint, early return to ring, if possible, with more strength and determination than before.
course, she wrote her letter and insurance and shipping. I had the privilege of reading it and I felt very beautiful and touching, I am sure that, if it did not win, anyway sde or letter will be booting the smiles and will beat stronger for a little while to menso more than one heart.
I decided I do not ever write anything. Really, I think that writing is not giving me any good. I was flattered when my friend suggested it, but when I entered the website of Monteblanco and read about 2 or 3 cards, I was unable to write something at that point.
Today, when I read the blog of my friend saying that participated in the contest, I wondered who would have written my letter, if I had put it seriously ... many faces and names crossed my mind, people, loved ones, pets, friends ... But what good is fooling myself? I am very clear on who it would have written.
Who can get me out of the darkest world of gloom and sullen my mind with a single smile, just laughs when I disarms even mischievousness is more tense than the columns of the Empire State, in that he stole the eyes Heaven and took possession of his light, which makes me ease the pain, or at least keep them in the drawer for a while with the sound of his voice, that of whose lyrics alive, and I think I understand but no, that I the world, the name spelling, revere her laughter, her body rest, its presence feel, its very existence is my breath, and surprises me every time with a new facet to venture did not expect. And it could
write because there are no words to describe what it feels like him, or to explain what it means seeing the world for a second, through the framework in which he sees.
No, I can not. There are no words. My love letters are written daily in feelings, heartbeats, smiles, sighs, laughter, surprises, beats, sounds, rhythms, images and even screaming. Montblanc does not fit in that I live, every day, with joy or sadness, and that only I understand.
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