So there I was: surroundouded by all those dark shadows, like unwanted visitors I failed to kick out; never left alone, but always lonely. There was more solitude than I could feel.
While days went by busily working at the little shop, nights burned out at the rythm of pineapple vodka, cheesy novels and aromatherapy candles. The closest thing to a friend I had were my books: warm in my hands, telling me stories... A few hours of sleep before sunlight and then another dull day crept by.
And then, out of the backdrop of my sad little life, he entered the scene. Never did I suspect he´d bear such importance to me when I first saw his black eyes -blackest than I had ever seen- trying to peek into my soul, where all those outrageous words lay unsaid. It was magic. The kind of magic you can not experience without changing or at least believing in it. Or maybe it was an accident, like the irreversible instant you break your spine in a car crash to never walk again. Or perhaps, damnation.
There is no magic without damnation; the only appropriate response when having a glimpse at is is static awe, save you might get discovered and crushed in an excruciating bliss.
ResponderEliminarShould anyone choose to use it, be warned, nothing will ever make you happier. And nothing will ever be more costly.
Love is mutual discovery. Finding out thing´s about ones´self we didn´t even know about. It´s such a universal feeling, yet it´s unique by definition, since it´s the result of matching together two unique souls.
Eliminarsmatching, i'd have said =)
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