A – I may not be loved by those I so desperately wanted to love me back, I may bounce off this spiral of despair, of emptiness, but I don’t have to pick up a gun and define my end myself.
this is where I begin to separate history and truth. this is where I truly enter into what is known as destiny – that which refuses to repeat itself.
B – who were we in the first act?
I remember running
after the first love, comes the first love and then the first love again. i don’t want to keep the tenderness. what you don’t give, dies. (i used to think about that a lot)
it’s terrible that we’re so easy to forget: that we’re not imprinted like a splinter in a rock.
When you can, tell them I’m not here.
no more shadows. the sun is right here.