Cierra los ojos y dime que esta noche no habrá frío. Hazme promesas tan cortas que estés dispuesta a cumplir, o mejor aún, prométeme que no habrá mañana. Hoy necesito creerte, hoy quiero que limpies las heridas que se están pudriendo, que me están matando. Hoy quiero que cierres los ojos y aprietes muy fuerte, quiero que me hagas sangrar hasta que estés segura que podré recuperarme, que podré salir de esto. Hoy cierra los porque no quiero que me veas llorar
I'm afraid of becoming different. I'm fearful of one morning being another person, of thinking too much, of questioning everything and trying to get away melancholy. I'm terrified of knowing everyone, of saying hello to all those people and remembering their names, of not being timid, of being a kind and friendly person the people says I am. Of course, I am not that. I don't keep a smile on my life; neither is nice nor sexy. I am too worried about thinking all time, about the conversations with myself and the healthy practices of waking up early, reading a lot, exercise and not eat meat. What will happen to me in this way? What will I become on this road? What will I do with the vacuum of no pain? I don't want to be that handsome guy, I don't want the cute smiling I see on the mirrors every morning, I don't want to smell sweet. I don't know what is happening; I don't know what is different now. I want my obscure Mondays; I need my unsolved dramas, th...
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