life is not always a succession of joys, good times and sunshine.
Sometimes it is cloudy, the trees dripping and while your face downcast, seeing nothing around you, your only contact with the world is made up of the reflections in the puddles. Not even to take the picture you'd like to raise his head, and you focus on that reflection, blurred and distorted, a reality that overwhelms you, which you would like to escape looking for those other times you'll never fijabas in puddles and if pisabas appreciated the freshness instead of cursing ...
are moments of melancholy, sighs, short breaths until you choke you realize you're out of air, and air-filled lungs to exhale as you return to sigh and sink back the head between the shoulders, hands in his pockets, and come back to look high and reflect a ray of light will tell you soon ...
Melancholy ... (Sigh)
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