walterdoege

as the night of Christmas I hope good for every people…I sense also some blue, some holiday blue…but I choose joy…holidays blue is so important to feel as joy…blue and joy make good partnership…as rivers flowing to the ocean that refuses no river: love…my happy night was happy…deep blue…true joy…true sensing that I love…true sensing that I am loved…love is a shared sentiment…I don’t know what love is, I feel  love…you can feel too, we can feel together…love is a shared experience…i love so many people… and I am loved too…it’s a hard work, however, to love…utmost when we are adults…but adults are children that grown up…I builded a happy night and i place that every and each night may be good…at hard times…at happy times…even when bad news arrive…and when good new arrive…I must write that in despite of all, to love and sense joy is a choice…i have my deep woes and missing…I miss so dear people…I miss my mother, and my father…but missing is a serene sentiment…it’s an elaboration of lost…love frees and loosens even tracked pieces of blue and deep pain…love is a shared experience…when adults we must face hard and painful realities…and sense the joy of staying alive, pleasing everywhere…love is our common ground, I just alive in and please anytime…with you…if not this way, if not with you…love is only a word…and love is imperfection…someway I guess I can live my life better, but my life is imperfection…my life is not a perfect one…and life and love are boundaries of an imperfected common ground…common bread…when I could feel love as imperfection, I could sense the joy of love, the free sentiment love is…love is so close to freedom, trust, joy, kindness, honesty, sincerity, good will, care, good dreams, hard work, mercy…and love is imperfection…perhaps I can write that if and when I can accept the invitation to love…with you…and with my nearest loved ones…the people i love so much…and whose love me, love is always a free sentiment and joyous road…if love is presented as illusion and idealization, it’s up we only find frustration…joy and love are somehow the right measure in between imagination and realities, imagination and the real…rocking and rolling the real we can create lovely and not so fairily realities…realities that present imperfection, but love…I have nothing, but love…this soft linkage of imagination and realities, the work of love…i can face frustration and privation…I can not stay with all people I want…I am so close to lovely people…and shared love…some indefinite point in between aloneness and intimacy…love is not a matter of luck…if we want to build a perfect night, tonight it’s gonna be a good night…because a perfect night does not exist in my life…I sense the nights as invitations to share and give nothing, but love…sharing the imperfection of love…it’s a widing road…love is ahead…I can listen love blowing…and the lights blinking acroos any lovely road…love is imperfection, as in my lovely experience…don’t forget, I am only a fiction writer…and fiction is what the human being do to support hard realities…I do good fiction…from human goodness…now and ever…keeping me on the road…some awkward road, but lovely road…when perfection falls facing real bad things, painful things, illusion and solely imagination…imperfected love is shynning near us and inviting for a good life, a good flow…imperfected love is blowing everywhere inside us…together we can listen the love whistle…the love glowing…ever…night after night…in a endless and lovely road…love is not a concept nor a word, but a lovely peaceful and free sentiment of being love itself…just imperfection we can share…the beauty of love is the right measure in between imagination and real daily life…always a creative endeavor may be…daily life…brand new days…brand new nights…brand new world, just for a lovely share…it’s just my way to sense and keep going on on the lovely road…you build your way…we can go on trustful…love ahead…ringing loudly