I swear I was doing well in this history of repressing my feelings. I swear I had even forgotten the pain a little strange in strange places. I mean, I walked feeling a sharp pain in places I did not know they were capable of hurting. Will finally see the scientists were wrong and a person can, yes, to die of heartbreak. Things were just following its course, you know? Before, I had to know everything decrease caused a horrible feeling in my chest, as if something were missing, as if ... I do not know, like everything is wrong. Stupidly wrong. The only distraction that worked, made me happy again, but then they broke up and I think I almost suffered a serious facial muscles atrophy in the absence of smiles. Not to mention that our relationship was strange, you were disappearing. And he kept running away, the cold got worse. But then I said some good truths, that's what I did. I missed you as a friend ... that makes any sense? And then everything was almost normal, I could leave the pain aside, I was even happy and stupid as I am normally. But dreams ... Dreams are cruel. After perhaps hours with you in a world where everything was right, it hit me. The pain came back like a shot. Yes! It was just like a shot. But it was so strangely masochistic like that pain was the fact that she was starting to burn and maybe destroy the arteries of my magnanimous pump aortic mas eu não ligava. As horas com a sua voz enchendo aquele ar feliz meio distorcido dos sonhos foram tão boas. Saber que pelo menos em algum tipo de universo paralelo, você ia ser meu, era tão bom. Só meu. Embora eu tenha raiva de mim por concordar com você sobre poupar nosso sofrimento, alguma voz no fundo da minha mente grita para ignorar os sonhos, grita para perder esse idealismo de possessão sobre alguém. Acho que as coisas nem sempre acontecem como nos livros, certo? E eu quero dizer os livros de romance, por favor, os céticos que me poupem de comentários chulos sobre livros de suspense ou coisa assim. Talvez seja isso que me corte tanto, essa certeza de que livros são livros e a vida real é apenas real life. I know the importance of distinguishing two things for me, but sometimes, just sometimes wish we were in a beautiful book with a final for us, an end that makes people sigh and ask the same. After all, this is what I do, I sigh, jealous and wishing us both, "we" in my mind that we are flighty. We need not be forever, you know, forever is a long time and we are young, but we could have something beautiful. I do not know. And I have no idea why to be writing this. I think the soul always yearns for what is not, is not it? I do not have you, and so more than anything, I need you. Go figure ...
miss, jean carlos ... I miss you ...
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