I'm but normal: no superpowers, no special talent to put me in the spotlight. I haven't been all around the world, nor have I weird tastes in matter of music or fashion. I'm plain, boring if you want to put it that way. I hold but my soul and nothing else. A pitiful and scarred beating heart it's all I hold with both my hands.
It's all I could have given to you...
I'm but a simple girl: I've got no power to change the ways of the world and I more than surely lead a boring, eventless life after college. I'll probably be raising cats and read in the evening, sleeping with the lights on, 'cause you know that I fear the darkness lurking outside after dusk. I'll be but small and left behind over and over again. All I'll be left with will be my dreams - beautiful, rising and dying dreams.
It's all I wanted to share with you...
I may be putting down words because I'm young and fearless, but it won't bring me any success later on, it won't turn me into a real writer, no. I'll forever be an obscure writer, hiding underground and using metaphors to hide my soul. I'll be small, but a pebble under your vast sky.
And you'll be shining over me, so distant, so bright...
And even if I want to consider myself important I know there's no way you'll remember me over years. It's bound to be forgotten, buried under dust and left to rotten under the grass of the summer that never got to meet us both...
Day 1 and I was all confused. A hand offered and it got me all sparkling, running, ephemerally moving down in spirals of smiles and heat.
Day 37 and I was the special one. Friend, you came to me like a torch into the darkness that scared me, like warmth during the blizzard when in fact all you were was a thief. You stole something from me and I still must get my hands all bloody to get it back from you.
And we were already halfway through this story I'm putting down while reminiscing...
Day 45 and I cried for the first time. It's not easy to be me: dreams, hopes, thoughts and smiles - all shattered, all cracked, all crumbling. And for the first time my heart wavered...
Day 59 and once again I cried. It's all fuzzy and confusing, the reason behind all those. But I remember how it ended: a broken vase on the floor, a broken heart in my chest and a closed door.
And before I could grab onto you, I realized...
Day something'n'something and it was all gone, slipped through my fingers, escaped and flew away just like a bird that overcame its fear of the liberty awaiting outside the bars of a rusty cage. You went away like a lake running dry under a hideous heating sun...
And before I could grab onto you, I realized: you were never mine to begin with...
I was maybe too young for you, love...
Or maybe too old?
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