The reality of my being

I wish I was so weak that I could allow myself to break into pieces. I wish I could allow myself to feel, really feel what it means to live with a broken heart. I would cry, I would scream and then it would be over. It is just a moment. But I have no
strength left; I don’t have the power to express my inner pain.

Even by saying scream, cry, the voice of my soul gently whispers to me: You have already done that, that is why you cannot repeat this event, make it be a second reality. Your inner dreams sound is a constant scream and the tears are made of blood,tear drops that explode and disappear in black holes.

Feelings become memories when they are expressed. I can only dare to express love. That is the only kind of memories I want to be responsible for. This is what I am

I am love anything else would be against my nature. I will not destroy myself. I will not become someone else. Someone that I don’t know . . .