Consumption Madness

What we forget, yes, we live in a simple, lean and leisurely life in our consumption frenzy. Standby. Little happiness is always on our side, maybe a letter hanging on the hay-yellow paper.

Source

We used to be. The most handsome child of the school will write us a letter on the day of his smile, a summer holiday to ride a bicycle, a clean letter on the clean sheet of paper with the fragrant pen that will come from the closest girl friend. Feast for new shoes, bleeding wound around the array of wound crust. When we dialed the phone, we turned every time we dialed six times.

We knew the value. We would not consume easily. We accumulate. The pencil of the pencil opened like a Spanish dress, the mandarin shells, dried daisies. Each of us was a collector. Napkin, postcard, stamp, money, magazine. Well, Laf still stays hidden.

Yes, you are right. But when did you tell me the last time you wrote poetry? Your heart is as clean as a page, cordial. Tell me when the last time.

Source

We used to make dreams. Some fancy, some plain. And we loved it. Preferably platonic. Oh man, I feel like you're saying how messy you are.

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