Essay #1

[Nota: Nada melhor para publicar.]

What else could be done,
if they're all gone?

What else could be said,
when all you've got left is yourself awake in your bed?

All the memories,
I must burn,
'Cause if I don't, they would turn
all into huge tragedies.

When I write,
I pay attention to the dark ink.
I don't even blink;
Won't anything ever be just right?
Maybe, the problem is that I over-think.



I dreamed of us and of our trust,
But, unfortunately, we were crushed by our lust.

"Something borrowed, something blue"
is what they say; and now all I had to say, I just said everything to you.