I went to your new home on tiptoes, on tiptoe as I came into your life. It immediately made me very sorrowful imagine there alone. Why I want to be your shadow, I love you so much. Why have not the courage to tell you this, but I wish you'd intuit from you. Because I almost eighteen years and they expect my responsibility to take all decisions and expect me to be mature when they are not mature, nor do I want to force myself to look like. I'm seventeen years for another four months, I'm seventeen and a hand to write of my days aseptically.
You love me illegally for another four months.
On you, on that bed, I felt a seventeen year old and I left my old clothes on the chest of someone else.
I love to see you smile while we make love, and while casually yawn.
But in my life I do not know what to do. I just want to write and weep for what I read and play the piano and kiss you, but the passions are cultivated, such as plants that would otherwise wither. I forget what I want and I follow what society wants me to chase and I feel less conformist and rebellious than a year ago. Grayed and I feel fat, I see my face appear on a sign for every time that I have betrayed my morale is still not well defined.
I can not take care of us alone. And 'the real problem.
So choose what makes me feel good and I do not love him.
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