Relief (unaffordable) of Change

We didn't get the change. He came by himself, early on, by bus of five, through the mist of the first fall. Everyone in politics and society has been called by his name. Lemza hasn't caught anyone more than Change these days. Not this month. These years, too. But the change did not come. They put on the same outfit in foreign clothing.

Everyone was unhappy, but the change was not coming. We looked for him in government, in the squares, in international offices, even to our dying enemies, even to those historical ones, but he did not come. The ripe apple falls by itself, with unbearable ease for anyone who has been long labored so hard to reach the high branches, or just coveted by passing by, without believing that it can reach it, without even dare to express its wishes. Then when the apple points at your feet, you realize it's ripe.

Even those in power called the change and did not know what to do with power. They had all squeezed it up, and they were yelling at each other, and they broke it up with them. Opposition people also called him and did not know what to do to make the change come. They've tried everything, ready. They had also experienced blood on their face, global reproach, and all the media had dug into their own inner garments, in their breadroom, in their sleep, nowhere to privacy.

Migen, poet, and not this deputy candidate, at one time he was fighting the strong “ ” and “mal, which he did not perform”, which he had punched so hard but did not move that he did not move.

He was beaten with fists, beaten often by fellow soldiers of the war, or by barricades against the centenarian invaders, who was as accommodated here as much as for a part, as seemed still more acceptable than the change most were looking for.

Anyway, now we know: The change has come. No one knows what will be done with us, but we all knew it was not going to go away. On Monday and the citizens who are searching the container every morning, and the employees of Hygieno-technics, and the police on the streets who were zealously distributing the ticket and disturbing the communication as usual, and a van-bus in the rear mosque that I wrote to you”, and... everyone had taken a root, the number of change, even though they were doing the same things they had done yesterday, even before every day...

I couldn't tell the difference between them; there was no drums on my arm, nor did it come with death, nor with noise, but I was thinking as I slipped through the streets of the capital, which was waking up with the popular, noisy Balkan gem.

And who's going to throw tear in the Parliament, I thought? Who will use all the tactics of guerrilla warfare in the capital? Who means it's not like that, nor is it, is it not a frog?

An already opposition MP has already promised he would make life miserable for the new government. Some who were beaten in studios and other crime backstages will go into guerrilla warfare if they continue to have similar sponsors because citizens did not accept them as part of the change.

“W split into two sections”, says the latest barsolette. “One died and the other won”, or changed, changing the whole society and state. The change is involving us in an affordable uncertainty, unaccompanied with threats, revenge, and nothing that the media are scaring us about, which is having bread and enemy production. It's ideal when your enemies fight in your arena, and you get thousands of virtual favor. You're the man, if you have the most consent. Just don't be forced into exercise this morning.

Ideology, in books, in newspapers, that there were no portals or social networking at the time, told us that Skenderbeu did not bring freedom. Some say he was wrong, that he should not leave the battlefield with his three hundred loyal warriors and produce harmful consequences after 600 years.

All locals and foreigners were convincing us that it's wrong to be who you are, that you have to change colors to adapt to the circle; you have to change identity to be acceptable to minorities. We kind of tried everything except to be ourselves. We had hidden ourselves, trying to change our condition, we had disowned ourselves.

If you want to change, start by the man who looks at you from the mirror, opposite”, said someone with a wisdom, understood to all. But it had to be trusted.

“O you who believed...” was also used in campaigning, prophetic phrases to restore confidence. Freedom I found among you, you said Jon once. But where does he know how to weave status, George, they sting social networks today. As a result, the real change was not brought to us by those who knit well. It was us who didn't believe the ordered, paid, virtual, TV polls.

The apple at the head of the branch is also ripe. It's rotten. Seeing him, we realized what we don't want. The others came by themselves. On the fifth bus, on a misty morning and spread among us, Change!

We didn't do anything, we just voted! The difference was between us, just had to be trusted and dared!