I hate living without someone.
that they ask me what I had for dinner,
The idea of ??loneliness going from nightmare to my reality makes thorns sprout beneath my sea-like skin.
you,
whom I don\'t know yet,
Don\'t leave me alone even though I know you haven\'t quite arrived in my life yet, or perhaps you\'ll change the path so that I never get there.
because love is witchcraft, the era of shiny rectangles,
It\'s black magic.
because it forces them to confront themselves, and that terrifies them.
And then there\'s me,
with the tenderness to love of a hurricane
and the transparency of the resin on a work with blood and veins that are not straight.
Are you listening to me, human being I seek?
I don\'t know, and perhaps I never will.
The things that truly bring long-term pleasure are delayed by life\'s envy or the moon\'s possessive jealousy when you no longer send it poetry.
Or perhaps the sun, which thinks that its UV rays are enough for you and that you only need it.
There\'s no way to know, and that\'s what makes it terrifyingly beautiful.
Because knowing someone doesn\'t guarantee they\'ll last.
If you don\'t know it, there\'s no guarantee you\'ll get to know it.
If something appears, there\'s no guarantee whether it will love you or destroy you.
And if you don\'t open yourself up to the outcome, you\'ll never find out.
And that\'s horrible,
as well as when you get excited seeing the eyes of the one you love wet with the doubt of whether they see you with love, desire, obsession,
the three or the desire for your destruction.
and on my deathbed, number \'I\'ve lost count\'
I will observe my death with euphoria and pleasure, knowing that I once tried and that I will try again.