Sometimes the air is so similar to so many tunes lived, hate, cold, hot, bitter air, that you have nostalgia. You have nostalgia for nostalgia. Listening to songs that ended ages now and you get the urge to smoke, take a glass from the cupboard and poured a Jack Daniel's, out on the balcony, feeling the wind caress the skin, frost filter and smoke enter the lungs.
In my case it is not. I cry, cry. I am a girl, are weak, I'll take the emotions. And I know. I listen to songs of decades past, I've never lived, and I just want to vent, to break the glass of JD's throwing him against the dresser, and start smoking and then cough and throw the cigarette on the balcony. I am a loser.
are worthless stress, advice, naming, do not change. I still fear to take the reins of my life and ride against the wind in search of euphoria. Disappoint myself and others. But I care.
I am a character in a story, a grandmother tells her grandchildren to go to sleep; not exist, what I see there, it's all just a dream, good or bad it is. So I calm. In this world where everything is so material and strong, I embrace the words, inconsistent, equal, fragile.
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