I want to find the perfect combination of ideal and form words, but I have no hint of mathematical or artist. I have pieces of many things, but none worth. They say it takes time to be an expert. I read somewhere once that anyone can be if the age of twenty years had almost ten thousand hours individually. I have a eighteen and yet I am no expert to be Elvira. Maybe if I wait a couple of years I will not be only an amateur.
Today my heart hurts, late empty, endless, in my thoughts daily. Today everything is useless, because I am. This day break and my lungs are filled with failure. Need the hand of my Valentine. No, do not need it, want it. I want their pat on my shoulder.
I see my own pieces and I remember the other bits of my life. My mind flies and I'm a girl. Memory is not only parts, missing pieces, half reality and half lie.
I see my mother, half it, half do not know who. I remember. I think things have not changed much. She always has been.
Miss Me No hugs, silent. I do not need anything else. Sometimes people do not understand that silence is the only thing that saves us from the misfortunes, as when we are not mathematicians or artists and we can not find perfect combinations of letters. Silence like a mattress not asleep, but dreaming.
sleep on those long arms and comforting. I think of all those bits of life before sending them to memory. While the observed disappear hurts, but do not cry, because my heart is empty and I can not be Elvira.
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