Made of stone

When darkness block out our view; when there are not more conversations or hugs or kisses, when love has gone… we convert on such of troubles united for the pain. All of our people turn heavy breaking our cheers and tables meantime our light bodies floats without gravity.

How many tears a woman 

has to spill for understand hope is aGony?

Kris Lewis; Rose.

Our eyes can’t see. We are as blind as we can lie to our feelings.

Our hearts don’t want to feel the affair of a heartbreaking reality that only considers suffering. So, we resort to forget all of troubles, we wind it and making figures for keep it on necklaces meanwhile we pray for a better future.

We use the hope like a state for pass the horrors of life. We believe hope is better way than alcohol or drugs, but means the same:  evading.  Hope is a bridge or mountain, when we are climbing we don’t notice our pathetic condition, but the time to fall move closer. We will fall down and the hope only gives to us a higher point of jump. The emergency scape kills us stronger.

We found courage in the act to admit.

We can still living behind hope or wine but we must not to forget who we are, because only the knowledge of our condition will protect us of the fact to be forgotten or dead