A story I've written ... I am ashamed of it, but ...
course, entirely fictional.
Without realizing it, I was caught in November, with those cold days and times.
These last months of my (chaotic) life, I just had passed without notice, and that worried me, because before the greatest of care devoted my time, making every second I was an eternity.
Since May was the memory of fast days, pale and empty.
I miss you. Someone to play with my hair, while entangled between his long fingers of a street musician. Someone
to go leave a mess and messy, but always returned. Someone tell me
special nonsense
0 comments:
Post a Comment