The afternoon is going along with your joy. Not much to do, nor is there desire to do so. Thinking going back to the top if necessary, go back to sleep and wake in the morning to do the same thing every day. Routine. Damn routine that makes you mad, which starts the last hairs of your head and forces you to drop tears between each bite of breakfast.
He no longer speaks. He goes around with her, hand in hand, shouting to the world that they love. Because now not interested to talk about it, because before it was able to be himself with me, because even Cupid's arrows could make it fall. And the tears ... bloody tears. Michael asked what happened.
not want to answer, no supportwant to find out that you're crying.
For him ... Or by whom? For yourself. Because you see lying on the floor trying to get out from under the claws of an eagle that has you imprisoned.
"promised to be my hero," you say, I tell him all the time in your dreams. "What happened? Since there is no us, there never was." You take a stone and throw it forcefully forward. Breathe deep, and turn your head. They are there, walk to the lake, and you get the obligatory question: "What is it that I do not own?"
walk back. You go in search of Michael, looking for someone who looks like him, that smells like him, as he kissed her. But not him. The intespestivamente kiss, he smiles and offers his hand, but you do not want to see you like them, do not removeyou that. And the idea to jump into the lake back in your mind.
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