do not know why I tend to think of these things. Maybe it's because I miss you. No. I think it is nostalgia. It is another regret. My chest hurts. Sometimes I can not breathe. And I feel I have to write. With each letter that traces my pen my lungs expand. Open the door to oxygen. As if he had cracked the code that restricts entry to strangers. I smoked so much that I think the clean air and is nothing more than a foreigner. What a stupid. Smoking. Drinking. To forget. Why do people cling to these assumptions lifeguard? Running away is for cowards. Maybe At this point I have the word written on the front. It may be that the reason why I can not look in the mirror. I get the feeling that you're back. I whisper in her ear. I have goose bumps of the neck. The toes tremble. And I see you. So cute. So perfect. I think a lie. May not exist. What if you were not just a star product of my imagination? Drawn with such precision. With so much detail. I felt real. I had the feeling I held you. She could feel the touch of your hands. You could even get to feel the softness of your lips. I do not know. I think I'm ranting. Delirious. Maybe I'm thinking about sleeping. Is that possible? Or maybe you have cheated me and what I bought this morning is not snuff. Or just drink me is taking its toll. I know it will not. But what I want is that this is over. Up. Stop being a coward. But where to start? I think a good start would be to stop biting my nails.
0 comments:
Post a Comment