Thunderstorm
And it's raining as if the sky was tearing apart. Tears of Gods and/or Goddesses! Lightenings rippping the sky, thunders breaking the silence. My mobile vibrates, as my mum's calling me (it's 5 a.m., seems the world is ending and I do not show up, neither answer the phone. I prefer to stand the yellings at home).I look through the glass and I am seing the rain drops hitting the glass violently: there's a kind of peace way too big in this scenarium; far in the horizon, the tower of the church with the blue cross.
I am thinking and daydreaming on one converstaion that a girl have had with me yesterday. Her idea of me immigrating would be due to the narrow minds in this country, the lack of chances: I am fine with the lack of chances, since I am in my country and narrow minds don't deal with me! But since yesterday, I have seriously thought on those girl's words: they're serious and honest and she was drunk. From the drunk's mouth comes the most honest truth: it is knows that even children lie, how could not a drunk woman pretend any kind of concerning?
My back and my butt hurt, I am sitting in this chair for hours. I am thinking on the walk down the avenue, through the park and through my apartment's door: my mother will be waiting for me, like a dragon in the dark, so she can yells at her will. It's heavily raining, so I doubt that any kind of robbers or even my murderer might be outside. The rain is my angel in this night, but still is this kind of weather the cause of my depressive thoughts of the latest days, or so I think/believe!
I have just rolled one cigarette: one last for the walk that's waiting me. And this is how I am closing this post: staring at the smoke, trying to discover any nice/beautiful drawings in it. Perhaps there's a ghost coming off the smoke of my cigarette, perhaps my soul's starts floating and abandins my dead body in this chair.
Who knows? Who would ever care?
I am thinking and daydreaming on one converstaion that a girl have had with me yesterday. Her idea of me immigrating would be due to the narrow minds in this country, the lack of chances: I am fine with the lack of chances, since I am in my country and narrow minds don't deal with me! But since yesterday, I have seriously thought on those girl's words: they're serious and honest and she was drunk. From the drunk's mouth comes the most honest truth: it is knows that even children lie, how could not a drunk woman pretend any kind of concerning?
My back and my butt hurt, I am sitting in this chair for hours. I am thinking on the walk down the avenue, through the park and through my apartment's door: my mother will be waiting for me, like a dragon in the dark, so she can yells at her will. It's heavily raining, so I doubt that any kind of robbers or even my murderer might be outside. The rain is my angel in this night, but still is this kind of weather the cause of my depressive thoughts of the latest days, or so I think/believe!
I have just rolled one cigarette: one last for the walk that's waiting me. And this is how I am closing this post: staring at the smoke, trying to discover any nice/beautiful drawings in it. Perhaps there's a ghost coming off the smoke of my cigarette, perhaps my soul's starts floating and abandins my dead body in this chair.
Who knows? Who would ever care?
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