no longer in fashion, you're the only one still to keep a blog.
And then you open the tap and throw acid on all those words. All those ideas-that-you thoughtlessly wished to entrust to a blog rather than left to rot in your mind. Now you're old, you should do great things, take responsibility and let go of this nonsense. If you want to impress you to be fashionable. Blogs, double-breasted jackets, jeans and scarves were in fashion last year. The unkempt hair were in the 80s, I figured. You are no longer fashion. Are no longer fashionable.
Which brings us back to the earlier question: Why are you still here?
Why I do not need to know what to do with fashion, you'll say. But you've started a blog because everyone was talking about, it was fun and between the lines you could write all your pain, blending them with those of others. Then you stop to think, to want to do, want to start over, you want to be one. And you wrote in your life, like everyone else, and you are not disappointed.
Have you stopped to look inside yourself when someone made you notice how dirty it was, did not even look in the mirror when you wash your face, you're not afraid to see you happy. Why should I be happy, I must be happy. Otherwise what are you doing up there, hanging from a cross of salt, looking at our happy face? I do not want anyone to have lived in vacuum, have to be happy?
More simply, I miss the night, I have too much wind now that I no longer look at the streets illuminated by the gaze of passers-by in a night without a soul. I have too much breath to choke. In my loneliness in the crowd of the evening, I have too much breath to choke, and there is no sea.
And now, a happy story
"How is Alex?" Too dark to see his face, was one o'clock at night and the dim light the cigarette that was not enough to illuminate the tip of his face, giving a halo in the blue scarlet night that enveloped the bus.
"Not too well from that time .. I was told that he was about to jump off .. Well you know you too. "He continued staring at him with such intensity to distinguish the gleam in her eyes, she asked the friend. He, meanwhile, vocations with hoarse from the smoke, he continued to think on his cigarette, and how not to get discovered.
"There is more to come looking for you, right?"
"Why should he?" But I already knew .. He and Alex had always been wrong for each other, hated each other but were never able to give his friend, seemed to be engaged, at times.
"Why? I do not know, tell me .. If you die the father who would? "
" He tried to jump off a bridge .. "
" What stopped him? "
" I do not know .. "He lied, it was a way to close quickly that conversation, to avoid any further thoughts on the boy with whom he had played since his childhood he was going to kill himself jumping into the water of a stupid Irish town. They would have fished at dawn caught upside down in a tuna net, maybe, and would be able to say "Let me five minutes more, I sleep .." Styx ferry and while it would have been able to say "oops, I must have missed the note on the other side .. Be right back! "He did not want to die.
Yes, the story goes, and yes, this seems like a gay history. Maybe the two actors are ..
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