Peace and love

He began to love the world, in spite of the world had shown from the start not to love nothing more than violence, so, for being loved, had himself become a violent, but to defend the weak not for oppressing them. He had let his hair grow because they were able to stroke his back, such as the existence still could not do, and had become a small spot of color that seemed to have been spat on the gray of the asphalt, where the brutality of the friction leaves no hope to the flowers. Life, you know, pulsates through gritting of teeth, and endures harassment of every kind in order to carry out its task, and he wanted to get to be able to smile at death. He was not easy to see his favorite phrase, peace and love, turn itself into piss in low, but his eyes did not want to haggle for lower horizons other than that, for to be seen, it needs that you look at the sky.