lunes, 15 de diciembre de 2014

Sesenta y tres días tardaste en llorar, chiquita de nadie. Ahora que está todo perdido querés volver a tu lugar, a cuidarte sola, a quererte sola (dormir sólo cuando velaban por vos). Vos quisiste esto, princesita derrocada, vos decidiste cambiarle la voz al participio.

Do you remember loving me more than I could be loved?

1 comentario:

. dijo...

I mean, that must have hurt like hell, right? Most people never get over stuff like that and I was like, “Let’s go get Jamba juice!”

I would give everything I have or will ever have just to feel pain again; to hurt.


And that’s the rub of all this, isn’t it? I can’t feel shit. I can’t feel anything. We think that pain is the worst feeling. It isn’t. How could anything be worse than this eternal silence inside of me.


I can’t take it anymore. I think I’m going batshit. I need to do something.”