At the end of the call, there were so many words that came to mind, so many questions, but I already knew the answers of wanting to do.
So many, so many that I remembered a while, but only after the "feel" and the LCD display the sentence: "Call disconnected".
One of the many I flashed in his head: WHY '?
Memories are cards that must be carefully cataloged, stored in the big picture of the losers, the losers and also lost. In the middle of that path, including trees and forests to avoid potholes and car repair. But in the end he took the path that led him to the easiest way, so it was easier for her life. But the thoughts, when by 'importance, they sound like bells and weigh like boulders. The truth destroys to make happy when is just another. I know this well.
I spend most days in the dull conviction that nothing happens by chance, that even though he's gone one day he will realize his mistake and repent if they have to do the same mistakes.
the end what remains is the mute silence. Yours, mine. Then ìimprovviso desire that animates my senses when it should not, that moves the dunes of my imagination in those sinuous forms that my body just gives my hands. Caress that dream, do it my own, a strong cry that erupts aftermath of a new day, made up of new desires, such as this. Please bursts in and takes up to devour the soul, but I hold firm, docile about a very thin and sad reality: it belongs to me ...
Love, is made of desire, passion, desire, hands that chase, hateful words that are screaming and then crying, endless tears. But it must also form of complacency, feeling really full, satisfied, no ifs no buts. To be filled, until feeling satiated and want nothing more than that.
the end ... He was never really satisfied with anything. Perhaps change should not be others, perhaps to change to be only his ego.