Confessions of a year and five months from those who know you really only three days.
say that Christmas is all better and then you're tired and you want to be good to yourself. Call them the''your''people, those that make you feel good. Not me, not one of those. Do not fool ourselves. We upset the plans of a lifetime, but this time you have you wanted. Your tears come from my headset to the phone wetting his cheeks.
It 's almost Christmas, and what's inside of us? Selfishness. Do not call it pride. I wake up every morning with words that smell like fear and guilt.
Yeah, you're me. I do not know who they are, but I think we should stop looking for me, I'm in love and that you and the other does not want to know anything. Now that I was cleaning the paint from my heart like the sea green eyes. You tell me that even when you do certain things, because without a precise. Are you me when you repent. When you can not help but make trouble with the words from the keys out of luck for a phone that can not speak. Damn technology. Damn people just do not know the secrets that keep them.
But now you say that all is well, you have given another chance, I thank you and sorry for making me feel sick. Did they think my fears weighted otherwise the guilt they would have left to someone else.
It 's almost Christmas and you've given me the weight of secrets that I could well do without. The snow is not falling and I miss her. I miss D., stuck in a city where everything is white and I without him in a city where it will never be all white.
You said the same things that I once said to others. But I can not do to say 'no'. What I do not want to have anything to do with you, because three days I are enough to understand that with those like you I've closed seventeen lifetimes ago.
Then you whisper not to call me, to feel a few days to the event right out of curiosity to know how things go.
you will not.
And you say you love me.
And I have panic attacks at intervals of half an hour.
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