Al comienzo de una novela suele leerse: “Los hechos y personajes de esta novela son producto de la imaginación; cualquier semejanza con la realidad es fruto de una mera coincidencia”. Al comienzo de esta “Novela” no. Porque yo existo, y cuento mi Historia.
I look back at you and I see an ocean of broken bones soaking in the blood that leaked out of my heart when you went and crushed it in your perfect hands and no amount of cheap liquor is ever gonna make me forget you or the fact that it’s turned me into a fucking heartless bitch and that I feel as if I’m living with your gun pointed at my head at my mangled chest forcing me to stare backwards at the mess you left behind
I wonder if you ever think about me and remember about the way you felt when you looked at me with that Look in your eyes in McDonalds that day you know the one - it could have been affection when you kissed me and leant into me in the middle of the street as if I was holding your whole world up but I now realise that maybe I was holding your existence up so much you couldn’t even see mine no wonder I feel crushed under the weight of you no wonder when you left I was a broken mess lying on the pavement where you kissed me goodbye over and over again I think I left my heart there with you there and then and you’ve since taken it far away and god knows if you even remember you have it
Sometimes it’s not always good to be needed so much no matter how good it feels how much you love them and what you would do to keep them from hurting
