Another night and I have a headache, sore heart. Yes, it hurts my heart.
The days have become infertile. But I recognize the beauty of the morning. I would like to live in one of those houses you see in American movies. Made of wood. And spend the morning on the porch reading a book, drink tea or write. While the trees create a play of shadows on the grass and the birds sing. Idyllic it?
Maybe one day I can lead a life like this. Peace. Because now, yes, I know the peace, but it's like a distant goal, yet to be reached, I see in movies, drawings, art, but not in real life. It's like a fairy tale. Utopia.
Today I slept all afternoon, until seven and a half ago. I woke up a message that I was stunned. An unexpected surprise.
When you came to my house almost did not believe it, looked in the past years since we met. And I did not know which side to do as the past we have had. This week is the existential questions of right or not right that we pursue this story already troubled from the start. But as you know, I do not like things easy, I prefer the difficult roads, the ones where you have to walk for hours, clinging to every hold for fear of falling. And perhaps it is not fair to continue so, but I do not have the strength to let you go because you want to. Here with me. I want you forever. And sometimes I seem to be too many. To be tired. Not to be enough. Not to be right.
Because sometimes I look in the mirror and think that it is not. What I'm not the one with which you should be. I am destined to be alone. Shut myself up at home as Emily Dickinson. Write. Read. This is my life. The reports should not even touch me. Yet I have this heart that loves and would love you. It's almost a disease my love. This insane desire to annul it with you. And there are things
I really can not tell you a voice and I'm sorry. I can not speak. I am made for silence. They are made for writing, the lyricism and poetry of the impossible love novels, fiction. Yet I love you. With all my heart.
And there is the beast that still belong to you and would like to eradicate it as a tumor, by tearing your flesh as if it is stuck with his teeth.
You will serve on a platter. It will be the main course. This love decomposed. That should leave room for new flowers to grow freely.
I would like to grow. Toward the sun. White as a lily.
But my roots are still too fragile.
And I'm on the sidelines.
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