It’s not so easy writing down my feelings; sure, I am used to it, I write (let’s say more try to) books and stories and in every line and character there’s always a piece of me.
But now, I’m confessing something, holdin’ on to every single letter of every word of this little speak-out.
I’m not a person that talk to much: I prefer to listen other people, I’m the shy one, the one that never says somethin’ out loud, the one in a little corner at parties and in people groups. I prefer chatting only with one single person, in front of a bottle of wine and a typical spring evening. That’s my kind of conversation.
So, I only be myself when I write. Only written words can say everything about me.
I’m scared. I’m scared of future, of life, of who I will be. I’ve changed a lot since two years ago.
Someone made me hurt. Someone broke me up in several million pieces.
Someone cheated on me.
Betrayal it’s the only thing that deprives you of yourself, when given.
It’s the only present that makes you lose everything: self-esteem, love, faith, strenght.
I’ve been cheated two years ago by a person I’ve gave everything to, even forgivness and new start. And he burnt alla gain, with the flame of betrayal. For what? Sex? A slimmer body? A more beautiful guy?
I can’t have a relationship since that day: I have a lot of one night stands, covering me by the pleasure of pure sex, but at the end of the day it is like going to gym. I satisfied a need, not a will.
And that’s the difference.
I can’t have faith about someone. I can’t love myself again.
But I have power. Power to change.
And I will do it. I feel from September, there will be my rise.
From ashes to ashes,