50.

Hey, there. Here, inside my bed, i'm thinking about you. I'm remembering all that shit you said me, that you loved me, that you had fall in love with me since the first minute you saw me. You know that I don't believe in all that stuff. You knew that I weren't in love. I'm only in love with one person. You knew it. And you didn't mind. You just said, I was going to love you more than I could imagine.

Here I am. 2 months since I last saw you. Routine has become my best friend. I can only remember your smiles, and then, then I can only remember you crying because of me. Because I said I didn't love you. Not now, not then, not in the future. I was so sure about it. And now, here I am. I'm now crying in my bed, thinking about you. I have beed dreaming about you for 1 month, and now, I can only think about you. Our pride is our hell. I love you, I can say that in here, but I can't meet you and say it looking into your eyes. I'm sure you don't wanna know anything about me, that you don't wanna see me any more. But I'm dying without you.

You know about me more than I could imagine. You know what I like, what I dislike. You know my favourite color, and my favourite music. You know that when I'm sad, or I'm not self conficent, I wear my baggy trousers, as you know that when I'm happy, energic, when I have caffeine in my body, I wear my best tight clothes. You know it, of course.

50 entradas en el blog. 50 sentimientos, 50 momentos, 50 experiencias. 50 vidas.