"You know what is the good thing about broken hearts?" Asked the librarian. I shook my head.
"What really can be broken only once. The rest are no scratches. ""
[Playing the Angel, Carlos Ruiz Zafón].
And I found myself in front of him without words, guardardomi just the tip of the shoes hoping that suddenly the words themselves were born and took shape, the form that had given him for so long my heart. But so it was not. Because in the end the instinct has always given the best memories, but has never helped to explain the feelings. And if what you feel then served to scent the air, my house would be nothing but a field of lavender as large as ten thousand Olympic stadiums.
The unspoken words left craters bigger than we are willing to fill and that is why you need to talk, sharp set of eyes, hands tight, kisses and accomplices of words which, though scary, are the only way to never get lost.
The other day a guy at the supermarket stopped me and asked which of the two bowls in his hand, contained more food. The first thing I thought is that people can not do it. While later, I was very sorrowful, and I imagined this in the evening, every evening for a long time, eats alone. And I suddenly realized how lonely the wither. It also dry up.
I hope is never enough.
"What really can be broken only once. The rest are no scratches. ""
[Playing the Angel, Carlos Ruiz Zafón].
And I found myself in front of him without words, guardardomi just the tip of the shoes hoping that suddenly the words themselves were born and took shape, the form that had given him for so long my heart. But so it was not. Because in the end the instinct has always given the best memories, but has never helped to explain the feelings. And if what you feel then served to scent the air, my house would be nothing but a field of lavender as large as ten thousand Olympic stadiums.
The unspoken words left craters bigger than we are willing to fill and that is why you need to talk, sharp set of eyes, hands tight, kisses and accomplices of words which, though scary, are the only way to never get lost.
The other day a guy at the supermarket stopped me and asked which of the two bowls in his hand, contained more food. The first thing I thought is that people can not do it. While later, I was very sorrowful, and I imagined this in the evening, every evening for a long time, eats alone. And I suddenly realized how lonely the wither. It also dry up.
I hope is never enough.
