The 7 in the morning. Always 7. Sitting in a car, sitting next to you without destination. This train has derailed hours, my heart every time go faster. Seconds, seconds that seem microseconds, seconds that last a life on my skin. Nearby, increasingly, hours of anticipation. Lies do truths, without being, without regard, my stomach is empty, apart, completely entangled in your silence. Mia, guilt, loneliness, provocations, illusions ... these are mine ...
Too many steps, too many scars on the soul suicide, too many disappointments and a broken heart and mended.
In my stories there is usually no happy endings in my stories emotions, emotions are always unpaid ...
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