"How do you do to cope? "You asked me this once. At first, I did not know what to say - indeed I was not even aware that I could take, I was there, that's all. At first I thought I had just managed to be a little more courageous. But ultimately it was not a question of bravery, when I think. I let myself be walked on, I'm lying on the floor of the bathroom, quintals of tissues in each fist, and I let time pass. I looked without seeing the tiny grains of sand falling over each other in the hourglass. I saw that I was getting older when the leaves began to redden and the trees were bare. In my room it smelled of sugar. My whole house smelled of sugar. Even today it m'abrutit, it intoxicates me. But I know now what I did to cope. I thought all these little things, all these little nothings . So small before they slipped to avoid being seen, not felt. Surprise a beautiful boy who surreptitiously watching you, drink hot chocolate with friends, or hot tea while reading a good book to roll in the grass, eat something too fatty or too spicy, but having tasted, have felt all the aromas and secrets, read a beautiful love letter (and even non -love); cry in front of a turnip U.S.; cry in front of an onion being peeled, crying tears of joy taste water sea, leaving the hairdresser with a large smile and open a big beautiful wrapping the day of his birthday, give up everything and do it properly tear (and blow out the candles too, it feels good) to pass a line of eyeliner impeccable go to the cellar for some wine and stay white little longer to feel the clean laundry that comes out of the machine; afford a new bag and want them because the closet is already overflowing, buy vinyl and attend the ceremony of turntables, the thirty dance-three towers squeezed tight against the diamond whistling response (hello doll, you sing well) make love to a boy who smells like hot sand, as in the song, watch his sisters and be happy to realize that they like, loving someone, hate someone and love it.
And feel loved, supported, like you worry, there. I like your head when you're sad, it's human?
0 comments:
Post a Comment