I also knew love, I also knew hatred and indifference and an amalgam of many other feelings. Among the worst was probably happiness. I find more and more that I like to be incomplete. To prove to myself that I can pick myself up from the asphalt and reunite indefinitely.
I do it gradually, away from the eyes of the world without any sound. I simply like to see the world on fire just as I like to shatter my soul just to make it reborn from words. I had read somewhere, I don't remember where, that love is a form of vandalism. The thought carried me to you. I don't know if you caused the whole mess or if I liked to ruin myself.
I don't know if it hurt to increase the pain in my flesh or if I enjoyed the feeling of losing myself for you. It's so hard to bury the untold stories. It is just as difficult to dig the pit for what has been said too many times. I wanted to bury myself. I decided it was better to just bury my soul. And our story with him.
You know, the sun loves the moon so much that it dies every day to let it breathe. My dear, I am neither the sun nor the moon. They are both and I refuse to die for someone else to live. I learned not to believe too much, I learned not to love too much and in no case to hope too much because all this too much over time hurt me extremely much.
You will want me to be there to love me again. You will want me to be by your side, to listen to you, to caress you and not to miss you. You will want everything I offered you unconditionally. Don't bother looking back. I'll be gone a long time. Alone or with someone else, but definitely much happier than I was with you.
Now, not long ago, my desires began with you, today my desires begin with me. My palms froze. I tried too long to warm you up. You let me leave you without blinking. I would never want you to want me again. My eyes are careful to open the gates of hell. You will love their warmth, but those gates will remain closed to you.
We were close to being.
