Sometimes, when I used to daydream, I thought about everything I used to be and I wanted to be. I thought about my words and all the luggage that I left somewhere that I can't even remember... I heard names and songs and I can't find out where they're coming from... I lost my mind and I didn't try to recognize my own misery because I wasn't able to keep my eyes opened... I'm such a shame.
I had a black pen. A black pen writing my desperate letter to something that I can't deal with. I'm not sending this letter to someone I'm just keeping it with me to wait for another breathless second. Another tense night or another gaze just to showing me how much I lost when I left all that shit behind... I couldn't deal with my own actions, with my own melodies, with my own lovers, with my own life.
Despite the fact that I want to sit right under this cherry tree and feel the gentle breeze kissing my lips while it tries to take some leaves away, I think about the fact that I would be happy if this thing called "time" doesn't exist because it wouldn't take me away from the ones I love the most and I could rest all by myself under this tree for an eternity. I could lay down in this green grass and close my eyes. Just one more time and I could feel all this pain coming back to break all the warmth my heart had. I would probably cry out and grab some grasses between one of my two fingers, pressing it again the other fingers while the coldness just hold me like the cool breeze is holding some pink leaves.
I could probably die lying there by myself while my world keeps turning around to find some other soluction to keep me alive; Who I am and who I want to be.
There's no answer, there's no breeze, there's not sweat anymore, there's no summer.
The winter is still alive and it keeps leaving and coming as it pleases.
