Someone
once told me that I was going to drink my life away. I wish they were right,
but they were wrong. I know how I'm going to die. Out of boredom. Like my
favorite poet did.
Death.
It follows my thoughts wherever I go. It breathes into my ear. It makes me want
to live. And die.
***
Is
there a part of you that still loves me? I wonder. But why would there be? Your
eyes are now open. To all my flaws.
And
yet. I always think tenderly for you. Because what I had with you was truth
itself. Our love made me who I was meant to be. No matter that I hate who I am.
***
The
first words. Those I didn't write for you. But that is of no importance. She's
now yet another picture in the pantheon of my life. While you are more.
The
muse. The conscience. The first person that ever made me admit my mistakes. And
whom I've failed.
***
The
songs. The music that we've heard lying on a carpet in my house. The lyrics we
sang along to.
Your
paintings. Your failing. Because you could create miracles if you put your mind
to it. But you never believed in you. I still see them. Every day. As a
reminder of…
To be continued.
The image was taken from here.
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