I write more than I can imagine, and I can assure you that half of all those writings were for her.
I wrote many times in the darkness of my room that lost count, of times the times I searched in my empty bed, denying me the facts of his absence, when the night approaches with his presence.
Stronger than other material, I sink again into the sea, in a deep abyss, in which the nights I can not escape, I remember that I was weak and that I did a lot, which did not work.
A bitterness that binds my reason, surrounds my heart and slowly ... it fills me with grief and every word that I have formed a consolation a redemption, for the weak boy that I was, and reminds me of a promise that I must fulfill.
Time will never stop and I have not fulfilled so many promises, that I can no longer ... I still have to safeguard, the words that once I created, I can not abandon them too ...
[I no longer know what I write (?)]
beautiful use of language. I enjoyed reading this.
Thanks very much for reading.