Loft

since so many years I say for myself always the same story, lavish and like a sucker, ok , ok, you have already time for your dreams, you must finish your obligations and after that you can start to conquer the area that you love, that every dream deserves a punishment, a hero, a heroine and of course a villain too. Good and Bad, either of the ways is acceptable provided that I manage it that I like, after that I pine, even enter a convent, but finally it wasn't proper for nothing. Slowly I understand that I'm clearing away this dream, I understand that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush and dry bread at home is better than roast meat abroad. Now I have a son, a great son whom tells me every day, Papa, ich hab'dich lieb ( papa, I love you), and wenn I see how he makes an effort to give a step in his development, when he cares for deserving his pronunciation in my mother language (spanish)looks for me to play with his cars, I understand that dreams are in good working order when you are alone. In the past I tried to pay off the dreams of others people ( at least I think so now, even though it sounds ugly, but , for my money, it's true) and I forgot mine, in vain I tried to liberate myself from these people, but I couldn't and now it feels me old and tire, I had my opportunity and I wasn't brave, but a coward, a nasty coward. I'm a Fioka, the unique who survived in the time, because the rest disappeared in the air. But every generation must get a victim, whom has to support the shame of the fate and the revange of the envy and its allied, and for this reason I confront all my fears and I spew here all my words, all my breath. Life is what you make it, I make it, that's why I make hay while the sun shines. For everybody that is there, say: only the early bird catches the worm.
Best regards
El Libertador.