#3
6:56 Dec 21st, 2011 | 28 notes
3:04am. On a glimpse of the night I caught with my bare hands the choices I did have. Alcohol riding the waves of your breath. You’ve been drunk of people your whole life, living from a story to another without even asking for it. I’ve been there, standing alone in a quiet room where I lived a life in a simple way, watching people pass by in the corridor but seeing no one knocking the door to come in. You’re as the others, either for shyness or non-interest, and from the moment I met your eyes I knew that if I wanted to get your breath inside my room I’d need to push you in. And that implies to put a step out and fight for you with all I had. Guess what - I had my choices at 3:04am and I made my mind at 3:05am. The cowardice take by excuse the spirits in your veins - I wouldn’t be another name in a list blurred by alcohol. I was not fighting for you that night, and I don’t know if I will ever be able to fight for you, dear. You’re not the easiest crush to have on anyone, you know.
well, let's be honest: if you're here for perfection, I'd gently ask you to leave. because she isn't. she is the kind of people who senses her life through every single cell of her body and has the uncontrollable desire to write about it and let the world answer if it has felt the same way ever. wherever she can, whenever she is able to. every single word is a raindrop of her very own storm, and you have to understand it. because, well: she's left behind her name and her language in order to scape from her body. it's about feelings, here - feelings, words and emotions. nothing more, nothing less. she'd try to be the whisper in your ear that tells you you should meet that girl on the front seat in the metro because of the stories she's hiding behind her lips or maybe that boy reading kafka because he makes your world spin a lot faster. she is here writing in english because she wants to leave her identity behind, like superman - yeah, she feels kinda superman sometimes. she thinks this is gonna give her some kind of freedom. maybe that's her main problem: the anxiousness for freedom she can't get rid of.
the grammar is gonna be wrong, the spelling incorrect, the vocabulary insufficient. but this is not about words, but words. so, I beg you to take a seat and some cups of coffee. promise me you're gonna listen to her carefully - neither me or she, we won't ask for anything else.
