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It's the dreams that deny me my deserved sleep. It's called the sleep of the just, but it is the ones who suffer, the real just who have trouble settling down.

I'm afraid it's the same for you, my love, if I know a thing about you.

The peace and quiet, whispering to a friend by messages. And why not?

I'll go one more on the one I said before. It makes me happy to see you have friends who support you, if you do not count me into those.

I, instead, cannot say that I'm in the mood to speak to anyone (well, almost). I think I'll stay blogging another night.

It's not exactly an option, call it an emotional forecast.

But I'll be fine. Tomorrow, my appointments with a guitar and a street corner, and with the trains which might bear you.

It might be the last Saturday I await blogging for a while, but not the last Saturday I wait. Not by a long chalk.