segunda-feira, 27 de janeiro de 2014

"You don’t ask people with knives in their stomachs what would make them happy; happiness is no longer the point. It’s all about survival; it’s all about whether you pull the knife out and bleed to death or keep it in." — Nick Hornby

domingo, 5 de janeiro de 2014

Letter XVII

Hey dear,
I don't write to you for a very long time, I know it has no excuse but... I think you also forgot about me, how you used to crawl up my hair, body and mind. Maybe you now have your own path like I have mine, but there's not path mine without you.
It's been so long since I saw you for the last time, you looked rather than beautiful as always, It's been hard without you. The breath turned into poison, horrendous mud.
I fight everyday, you're my angel and I stopped praying for you.
Miss you terrible.
The years are going so fast, I feel vanished maybe because you, my source of life, have gone out of my life.

I hope for an answer everyday, don't forget me I never forgot you.
With love,
Everything I wish you wanted.