Trust, and cry when they touch that vulnerable area of pain, for the duels that are scars of eternal losses. I miss my dead, many, and even today I told a friend, that the best I can do is to listen to the pre-summer birds and connect with December.
The yellow flowers that fall in December, carpet your steps as you walk through the city, those flowers are so connected to memories, and even have an old song from Floricienta, that I sang as a young while editing on a TV show.
today I am still sick, and sometimes I think that I may get worse soon, or maybe I will heal too. the pain of the soul and the heart and the mind, should not fall into suffering, because pain is reality, the other is to worsen the situation and it is optional to suffer, to leave because of stubbornness or not wanting to accept. Anyway, I think I've learned.
And the birds keep on chirping, and I remain as a faithful legacy of the memory of my beautiful not present.
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