Trembling hands holding the pen, and gradually the letters are shaped like stars in a night sky open. And in my drunkenness, write a letter...
I promised myself I would dilute feelings along with the ink, turning pain into poetry. To show how miserable and lonely one can become, to the point of clinging to pathetic things. The truth is cruel. And when you're at rock bottom, any reflection becomes light. Even the most unlikely creature. And the inconsistency that only grace can bring, I ran. I made a turn and went running in crash, out of desperation, deep and greedy route, trying to find a way to feel again. A voluntary defibrillation. It was the time when most needed someone...
And it hurts, even though I 'm still brings comfort my loneliness, a twinkle in his eye and some broken lines. Alright. I know I'm also a masochist. And I also know that, for now, it is you who pulls the chains.