Spleen ... Yes my dear Baudelaire would be really proud of me tonight.
Lack of something infinite. I can not understand what I take of random images in my mind and approach the mine to see if fill this gap, but no match completely: the painter, the guy with hazel eyes and gold, the father of Josephine, none of the three fills the picture, perhaps together. So I admit it sounds bad.
The big question, but because I loved him?
And I can not answer, I find myself saying why we were so good. But then what was in common, nothing. I realize I'm in love pictures that people send and transfer tutt'inotrno a loro, creando la parvenza di un'esistenza alla quale forse vorrei assomigliare. Ma la verità è che non so chi sono io, e quindi non posso capire con chi sto veramente bene. Ed è anche per questo che mi trovo bene con quasi tutti e potenzialmente potrei amare qualsiasi uomo di bell'aspetto.
Eppure mi sono innamorata di due persone ben precise. E a chiedermi il perchè, rimango senza parole, non lo capisco e questo non ha senso.
Non c'è niente di razionale in me, vago cieca seguendo solo quello che provo, e senza razionalizzare niente. Mi butto a capofitto senza analisi delle conseguenze, ma cosa sono?
Un animale? No una ragzzina. Tutto qui. Una ragazzina che si è trovata davanti ad un manichino e si è innamorata effect that makes her dress, and perhaps for a moment I thought I would just stay there vicno look beautiful like him. What
complicated concepts Mari.
Perhaps that I realized what I miss. I miss Mary, I've never really known, do not you ever loved so much, yet is sympathetic to some. I never paid much attention, I jumped at the forefront of battles to fight that might not have wanted to live.
one thing I know about her, she likes to write and is also good (much) the rest is a mystery. I pretend to know who they are, but maybe I'm just who I must at the time that suits me. This is a thought I've already made, and it is scary as my personality can change with respect to the person in front of me.
My problem is that I understand people, understand instantly and simply say what they want to hear, and remain affascianati by a person who exists only for them. Even those who say they know me at all actually captures. Not even my person fails to do so. The reason is simply that I do not know who I am, I can not pretend that someone outside of me can understand.
This confession so maybe it's just bold and strong to me, make me lose sleep for a few weeks and some orgnaizzare journey of spiritual seeking. A scare you and maybe I will look with different eyes now, but anyone knows that is a very sincere and e quindi una volta realizzata questa parte oscura del mio essere, l'ho esternata.
Ed è questo non conoscere me stessa che mi porta a rispecchiarmi negli altri, e diventano una dolce dipendenza, uno specchio in cui riconoscersi senza provare smarrimento. In loro mi ritrovo. Non ho mai riconosciuto me stessa. Non ho mai vissuto serena e realmente con la mia immagine negli occhi. C'era sempre qualcuno da dimenticare, qualcuno da amare, qualcuno di cui essere ossessionata. E io? Io dove sono stata tutto questo tempo?
Tra le fessure della mia esistenza, troppo spaventava per vivere con la mia faccia, e ne prendevo in prestito qualcuna al mal capitato che si trovava a darmi troppa corda. And it's funny, because it's true.
Sempre nascosta, Gurd always with the eyes of my beloved, to feel what she felt him take hold of his life, his tastes, until his friends. 'S terrible, but I think it's true. For the first time I find myself aware that I have never been fully myself. A little 'because they knew who I was, a bit' unconsciously. That's why I can not accept the end of stories. It 's like at each end had to leave the shelter by myself. At each end I lose my sense of my life, because it's not as if I had one. Besides writing, I have nothing, no nothing.
I live in people, through people, at the expense of my happiness.
do not know how to greet you tonight .... Mari
Lack of something infinite. I can not understand what I take of random images in my mind and approach the mine to see if fill this gap, but no match completely: the painter, the guy with hazel eyes and gold, the father of Josephine, none of the three fills the picture, perhaps together. So I admit it sounds bad.
The big question, but because I loved him?
And I can not answer, I find myself saying why we were so good. But then what was in common, nothing. I realize I'm in love pictures that people send and transfer tutt'inotrno a loro, creando la parvenza di un'esistenza alla quale forse vorrei assomigliare. Ma la verità è che non so chi sono io, e quindi non posso capire con chi sto veramente bene. Ed è anche per questo che mi trovo bene con quasi tutti e potenzialmente potrei amare qualsiasi uomo di bell'aspetto.
Eppure mi sono innamorata di due persone ben precise. E a chiedermi il perchè, rimango senza parole, non lo capisco e questo non ha senso.
Non c'è niente di razionale in me, vago cieca seguendo solo quello che provo, e senza razionalizzare niente. Mi butto a capofitto senza analisi delle conseguenze, ma cosa sono?
Un animale? No una ragzzina. Tutto qui. Una ragazzina che si è trovata davanti ad un manichino e si è innamorata effect that makes her dress, and perhaps for a moment I thought I would just stay there vicno look beautiful like him. What
complicated concepts Mari.
Perhaps that I realized what I miss. I miss Mary, I've never really known, do not you ever loved so much, yet is sympathetic to some. I never paid much attention, I jumped at the forefront of battles to fight that might not have wanted to live.
one thing I know about her, she likes to write and is also good (much) the rest is a mystery. I pretend to know who they are, but maybe I'm just who I must at the time that suits me. This is a thought I've already made, and it is scary as my personality can change with respect to the person in front of me.
My problem is that I understand people, understand instantly and simply say what they want to hear, and remain affascianati by a person who exists only for them. Even those who say they know me at all actually captures. Not even my person fails to do so. The reason is simply that I do not know who I am, I can not pretend that someone outside of me can understand.
This confession so maybe it's just bold and strong to me, make me lose sleep for a few weeks and some orgnaizzare journey of spiritual seeking. A scare you and maybe I will look with different eyes now, but anyone knows that is a very sincere and e quindi una volta realizzata questa parte oscura del mio essere, l'ho esternata.
Ed è questo non conoscere me stessa che mi porta a rispecchiarmi negli altri, e diventano una dolce dipendenza, uno specchio in cui riconoscersi senza provare smarrimento. In loro mi ritrovo. Non ho mai riconosciuto me stessa. Non ho mai vissuto serena e realmente con la mia immagine negli occhi. C'era sempre qualcuno da dimenticare, qualcuno da amare, qualcuno di cui essere ossessionata. E io? Io dove sono stata tutto questo tempo?
Tra le fessure della mia esistenza, troppo spaventava per vivere con la mia faccia, e ne prendevo in prestito qualcuna al mal capitato che si trovava a darmi troppa corda. And it's funny, because it's true.
Sempre nascosta, Gurd always with the eyes of my beloved, to feel what she felt him take hold of his life, his tastes, until his friends. 'S terrible, but I think it's true. For the first time I find myself aware that I have never been fully myself. A little 'because they knew who I was, a bit' unconsciously. That's why I can not accept the end of stories. It 's like at each end had to leave the shelter by myself. At each end I lose my sense of my life, because it's not as if I had one. Besides writing, I have nothing, no nothing.
I live in people, through people, at the expense of my happiness.
do not know how to greet you tonight .... Mari
