I don’t know how this started or if someday I’ll be able to stop it. It doesn’t matter the color, the size or shape, it is all about my grams. This is pretty pathetic, but for a moment it seems to be my unique escape of my loss and my melancholy. I hate your not possible promises. I hate when you have so many things to do before me. I hate being so selfish/possessive and not capable enough to live without you. I must find a job or a hobby before I turn into a psycho or a murder. You went to bed happily, I kept writing –to skip my fears-, I thought if we were missing something. I wanted to cry but I didn’t want to be so weak, I prayed for us. I need to believe that love exists while I want to stay in the ground, drowning myself with my tears.
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