Hace mucho que no soñaba contigo, que no encontraba paz en ese aroma que aún recuerdo, hace mucho que no extrañaba tus historias ni tus ojos contándome otras más. Soñarte no me lleva a tocar de nuevo tu piel o a sentarme frente a ti a escucharte mientras aprendo de vinos, de lejos me acerca a tus labios, pero me da gusto despertar así y saber que aunque estamos lejos aún vives en un pedacito de mi...
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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