Feel my pulse.
It's too tempting to speak out the life experience so far, feeling of standing on the edge, facing the inevitable need to outburst risking to become a blogger surfing on his very own pulse being unfollowed.
Someone incomprehensible to anyone, seeing things in a different way, feeling the pulse at 40, gravitating to reach the solid ground, teaching the old basics, preferring the old easy ways, respecting the rebels for what they had to face.
At times, there is no spontaneity, it takes time of paralyzing headaches and heartaches and finally big balls to make a decision still never knowing how it should be, stepping on the thinnest ice ever attempted.
What gives us the impulse to feel our own pulse anytime anyway?
Whenever in doubt that nothing is a mere coincidence, just ask your own pulse.
It has always been there begging you to react.
Feel it.
Any of this rings the bell, or unveils reference to your own pulse? If so, write to me.
There are many of us around, 1975 was a good year.
Start commenting, start something, change something.
At times, there is no spontaneity, it takes time of paralyzing headaches and heartaches and finally big balls to make a decision still never knowing how it should be, stepping on the thinnest ice ever attempted.
What gives us the impulse to feel our own pulse anytime anyway?
Whenever in doubt that nothing is a mere coincidence, just ask your own pulse.
It has always been there begging you to react.
Feel it.
Any of this rings the bell, or unveils reference to your own pulse? If so, write to me.
There are many of us around, 1975 was a good year.
Start commenting, start something, change something.
