Laura | Confessions

October 23, 2011 § 11 Comments

{Old pictures. Old text. Felt like sharing today. All me by me.}

Dear…

I don’t even know how to call you. Your name? Only adjectives added to a truth that grabs me, that cuts me into pieces like meat in this poor world full of attentive dreamers and bad losers. I see you reflected in my mirror, all mixed up in the bag of shames that feeds me. Honestly, all I know is I am talking with my heart hanging from my chest because I can’t keep it in its place… The blood that wraps me is nothing but venom.

I am telling you this now because little by little I open wounds in the scars that describe me. I haven’t showed them to you but I doubt you haven’t imagined them on my skin, my shell. They are invisible to what we accept. They are just a ball of dramatic lies.

I hope these four words don’t seem empty, like this Saturday night that sees me crying under its dark veil, narrow and deafening. I hope you don’t feel sorry when you read this; I hope you don’t feel the same cold that climbs up my toes and ends in the tears that I drop on this bathroom floor. Call me crazy, all I want is to brush the sincerity that wraps you, that burns all of you with the same wax, which, to me, only melts on my fingers like the knife I imagine caressing my neck.

The night pushes against the floor. Love bursts in my hands. All this violent smoke sneaks in through my knuckles and gets to the centre of this body; hit and sunk.

I am a coward. I should tell you so many things. I should tell you that when you’re gone I lose my balance, that when you’re gone happiness is ephemeral and relies on the smiles that hang from the ceiling. Without you, the world rushes toward my neck and bites me begging for honesty.

I am sorry, for loving you.

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§ 11 Responses to Laura | Confessions

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