Thursday, May 28, 2015

I wasn't but I had been

I didn't believe in backstabbing, until I became the knife. I never though I was broken, until one of the jagged pieces left a mark on my skin. I though the wall was a simple wood fence, not three meters of cement.

I thought incertitude wasn't by side, but that it had gotten the train to the other side of the lake. But no, it was still next to me. It came one morning and dissolved in my coffee, confusing my feeling and disorganizing my priorities. It kept me from changing signals or paths. It became by biggest enemy, at the same time as my excuse. The soaked coffee now doesn't taste like shared promises and movie nights between the darkness, but like the cold that gathers in my hands when there's no sun and evenings laying on the floor trying to find a concrete answer.


I didn't believe in ghosts, until they found shelter under my pillow and didn't let me sleep with my eyes closed. I never thought pictures could hurt so much, until one of the corners from my favorite photograph folded. and I cried on it.


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