Failure

I was not of the ones to fall in love in adolescence, I was of the late bloomers, I was a quick fall.

(A better drug than marijuana.)

I told you too many times no to become of it a sweet and you could see the lies. It became comfortable having someone in my corner to protect me and knock down the walls where I lived.

It was impossible to believe that it would take a year to change a person, with your slight comments and your advice. You made me laugh with crying.

(which I had not done for five years).

I was not one of those who professed love and marriage since childhood, I was one of those who cried with Dumbo and did not understand Neruda, but Becquer.

We promised ourselves too many goals not to be obvious in the break, I got used to having someone to love and to be loved. I would not say that it became easy and daily, I would say that it became a constant spring where if I understood love and could cry when we failed.

(A month was enough to melt my rules.)

I was one of those who grabbed your hand and begged. Of the repentant sins and lost in alcohol with drugs, I was of the desperate and of whom we laughed.

There is a before and a nothing, there is a me who knew where he was before and a me who is blind and desperate for the next smoke.

I do not understand of Becquer or Neruda, however of the dark and forgotten, of Wolf to Plath, of Bukowski to Kerouac I understand.

I was not one of those you chose, but of those you destroyed.

T.A.