I have such a developed sensitivity that sometimes nothing is enoght to hurt me and break me in thousand pieces. But also, a sensitivity so much abused that everithing can passing by ad a blade on a coriaceous scar, already death skin.
I have a need for love so strong that it sometimes hurts and scares. Me and others.
On my journal I wrote for years:
“Is it so difficult to stay near me, accept me, love me, wrap me in a hug? Often has been easier to run away and leave me alone.”
I’m like a dawn on the sea.
Insecure and stubborn, passionate and melancholy, full of doubts and covered with dreams.
I am different from what I was yesterday and from what I will become tomorrow. But always the same.
I insist on existing.
I exist, I love, I live, I fight, I fall and I get up.
With autumn in the eyes and spring in the heart.
A glorious echo in Shenandoah 