There is something broken inside of me. And I wish you could heal. But it is like a poisoned thorn, if you manage to get a good grip the whole, hardly a scratch. Nor is it as something that is broken somewhere. If you could compose myself piece by piece, I'd be able to endure the pain with pleasure. It's ... it's hard to explain. It's like ... I think we all have a private site, located somewhere in the heart between the ventricles or the atria. It's like a small fort where you place the most intimate, most private of your soul. Perhaps this little stronger which makes t & uacute; be you and not someone else. Usually, no one teaches that corner no one but sometimes you love someone very much. And now ... now I feel like my own fort had been blown up with gunpowder, dynamite, and ... and all the names you can think of explosives. Nothing remains of my little strong, but ashes and a huge plume of smoke. And all the little things that escondíay not want anyone to know that there are ... are exposed and frightened scream and cry, trying to hide beneath a blade of grass or bushes small. But .... It is not easy. CH
0 comments:
Post a Comment