Tuesday, February 3, 2015 Comments Off

You never smiled in any of the pictures I took of you. You would do one thing or another, pretending to not acknowledge the fact that I was collecting physical evidence of us being together. Smoking was your preferred form of avoiding my favourite pastime, snapping pictures of you, because you understood how it irked me for not being able to see you properly under those shadows of false redemption. Or perhaps you did it because you were nervous. You see, I understood you as well. I knew you enough to understand that that special vice of yours was something that you would do in times when you felt like you were not yourself, the un-you. After all, being in the spotlight has never been your greatest virtue.

You are the embodiment of every love song written by Bon Iver. You belong someplace else, not in this concrete jungle where every nightmares come true, where every single demons would trade your souls for your dreams, and where greed is the capital's currency. Your nomadic soul should not suffer in the desolation of such life.

So, go. I understand. Find a home for your soul. Find a soul that caresses yours with the purest intention. Find love. Find the life I can never offer. Find a life that you can never grant me.

And when you are done with everything. I will be here, a constant presence of your distant past. Still have faith in you, still always open my house with the warmest welcome for someone that can never call my house as his home.


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