Going to work.
Tight black tie on the clean shirt. Wearing the brow jacket that makes me look more respectable.
I tried to comb my hair but the breeze throws it on my face.
It is getting cold now with the moist sidewalks making reverence to a silent and shy approaching winter.
It makes no sense now.

How can something so perfect be so inappropriate?
How can this be the only truth about what I know for my life?

breath and tides.
all beyond my arms now.

So a miserable man makes money and plans… God knows lately I’ve done this.
Effort and desire.
It makes no sense now.

One more time… I am leaving a woman behind.
……. having absolutely nothing bad to say about her.
Only because I can’t reach the core of what should be touched: I declare waist of us and end of a dream.

Coming back home by the same sidewalk. This cold breeze opens MY jacket while I pass MY hands over MY forehead and neck. MY MY MY.
Her words aren’t to be expected anymore.
I am arriving home, changing clothes and counting the money I got.
What difference does it make?
I tell you what:
It makes no sense now.
And this is the only difference I can see between me and all the mistakes left behind.
I am the one that makes no sense. Mistakes have great logic and reason to exist.

Should a beautiful woman listen she didn’t do anything wrong and will be loved after being left for no reason… and do not think it is a lie?
It isn’t a lie.
I release you.
You are free to forget me before I destroy us… making you my slave, because this is what I know to do.   .
——————————— .


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