Thanksgiving

It's easy to find you in a middle of a message. Most difficult is to find you giving yourself to me. The reason is vanishing. Love is trembling. Passion is gone. There's no future, there's nothing to compare it. At least, that's what you've been thinking till now. Maybe even today, you opinion stills the same. You'll never change. Your illusions will always be future hopes. And I will be your support till you realize you've had enough. Till you've notice that love is not here but far away from you, from us. To get away...To run...To leave everything behind... That's what you always wanted. Someday, you will get away with all your lies, fake reactions, feeling that never were. That never existed. Knowing shakespeare, knowing Poe... It never mattered. Not even when I tried to teach you why they have wroten the way they wrote. Why Frida painted that way...Used those colours...Referred to that subject. My intelligence was not enough to fight against an illusion... Maybe a potencial love. By the way, buying your lies for a while it's like being spanked. We don't like it but seams a good option sometimes. Listen to them over and over and over again it's like bad sex. We can fuck but we always get tired.