Open your eyes whilst shutting mine,
Take out a cigarette and place it in my mouth.
Listen to my words while I don’t speak.
To my heart,
To my eyes,
To my soul,
There and alone,
Are my everything.
Maybe one tear ran down my cheek.
I can’t remember.
Crying was not part of the plan.
Why was there a plan?
The plan is what made innocence guilty
I guess it was simply my rotten self
that could not let you feel.
The one that wanted me to be a man.
Life is just a trail on nonexistent possibilities.
It’s not karma,
It’s not fate.
This is much worse.
Much more harmful.
A little bit more dead.
Perhaps I broke the unattended
intentions I had.
Have I ever been this lonely?
Have I ever felt this way?
Or is this just a constant suffering
I made up in my head?
But this story isn’t anyone else’s.
Its ending’s not anyone else’s fault
The stories I made up to be happy
never made sense.
An amateur work of fiction I told myself.
I never truly believed it.
I just hoped one day…