lunes, 7 de marzo de 2011

Qué poquita cosa eres, y qué poco me he dado cuenta.
A veces, cuando el sentimiento de culpabilidad por haber sido tan débil, te aborda, te preguntas una y otra y otra vez, ¿Cómo no lo he visto? De verdad me dejé engañar por esa sonrisa tan dulce y esa mirada de lado, que estudia todo lo que hay en tu interior.
Pero ya no más.
Ya no me siento sola si no te tengo, ya no tengo miedo a mirarte a la cara y a decirte, que no te quiero.
If he only knew he is hiding, he's afraid of showing himself, if he asked me for help  I’d grab his hand, and take him through the rain to new lands, yet to be discover, where we can declare the world ours, and where I don’t need to be afraid of losing control, we could make true all of those dreams we wonder about at the rhythm of the doors, lying on his red couch, while the cigarettes consume in our hands.
Instead, at the silence of this room, where we breath together, we just exist, we just belong to each other for a few seconds and then, we consume slowly, and feel the panic festering in our mouths, and the future signed in the tips of my fingers while I caress his delicate, pale, skin.

No hay comentarios:

Publicar un comentario