I knew one day would have to start typing. In your case (as in anyone who claims to be half human-half writer) I am aware that "write" amounted to "say" or what is more, to "confess."
And it is true that he was good at talking about feelings in the third person, imagine stories like yours and shape him into half half Magic Reality. But when it came to say what she felt, when asked her to undress on the stage of life, say what he really thought, brief them counting what really had been in place for what I had imagined ... simply, how to say? ... speechless.
Perhaps this aspect of his person was always the most incomprehensible to everyone around her. For though he was quite capable of becoming the life of the party, the focus of all meetings in a talkative cream, deep down, was always the great unknown for all.
Nobody knew what he was doing or what he did in his moments of solitude. Unquestionably had an artistic soul and a philosophical mind, for sure, was distilled from his long wandering scholar and intellectual tone, but ... how would have been his childhood?, what about your adolescence? How many dreams was locked, how many unfulfilled desires had thrown into the pit of Hope?, What they knew her tears?, "And smiles final? Was there really ever loved? If so ... how long?
Personally I must say that I knew a lot of character. But as is normal in people like me, curious by nature, I was interested in the person, the face of the moon that always stood in the shade. What drew my attention was precisely this enigmatic charisma, quiet and confusing.
So one night, one of the many holidays that used to organize at home, I decided to gamble on the type and ... why not? Also reputation.
waited patiently in the lounge for hours to do all the guests were drunk or at least, entertaining. I tried not to draw too much attention when I finally get away from the crowds. He knew no one would notice my non-presence as she, like the good host he was, and had sought a maelstrom of music, talk and laughter. Enough to go unnoticed.
climbed the stairs and before enter his room, I took off my heels. I admit that my heart was beating a mile a minute. I went on tiptoe into the room, like someone afraid to break a fragile glass floor with the weight of his body.
When I closed the door behind me I ran into a gloom that foreshadowed bookshelves. Everywhere there were collectors items flooding the corners, walls and corners. As he had imagined: a real sanctuary.
The writings were scattered throughout the room on the desk, in many folders, file cabinets, in drawers ... but I knew nothing what my eyes could see was worth more than the words that came from his mouth.
No. I was looking for exactly what you could not see at a glance. And there, next to a beautiful pristine marble mermaid found a music box.
To be more accurate than a box was a trunk, not how they look, much less, but for its great size ... a peculiar and unique object, no doubt, but did not expect less than that unknown priestess.
I opened it carefully, and even today, I can not describe what I felt when I started to play that haunting melody, when I started reading and did not want to stop ... or rather, could not stop.
It turned out that their truths, the ones I had so longed for, drunk like the sweetest nectar, and far exceeded all its adorable and heartwarming lies.
There was the first person I longed to thick and thin, with all its consequences. Read earnestly until the sun began to filter through the windows. I had to abandon everything and leave baffled at home (lucky for me, I lost no shoes during my flight, that would have betrayed me.)
I read until I hurt the soul, I read up in love, read to lose myself ... I read until the words flew back so far that when they are no longer understood.
And this is, in short, the sigh in the first person that I managed to steal that night
"Today I want to say more:" finally we did not. " Today I need to shout that yes, there, that I imagined ... and never really get to understand why they waged the last battle ... together.
What Sorry, but I can not keep secrets hiding in summary, I can not keep silent, and I apologize if my sincerity at this point hurts. But today I need to tell you, I like it or not admitÃrmelo, I love you still, despite the time and distance. You may want to strive to not understand, but please ... you gotta believe me when I say that not a single day that I remember you ... you gotta believe me.
That all unfinished business of my life that hurts most and it hurts you.
never I managed to forget, despite how much I hate feeling the need to really need to see, it is useless to deny it.
Let me also say when you know in other branches a part of me screams inside, and I feel angry, and I tear the soul.
That I want to kiss you even one last time (and even if this brazenly going to cost dearly I do not care ... you are worth that and more).
What else I can say? Since I have no ace to play, just sick at the thought that perhaps will never know what I feel in here.
And I keep waiting, silent by the window, open wide ... I keep waiting, never knowing that no statement is complete ... even this.
'll wait, and if not come back ... I'll wait "
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