You said my voice was hauntingly beautiful.
Then I sang for you, I sang so high that I might have fallen down, some day..
You said my dress was so light even the wind could violate me. It didn't. Unless you were the wind blowing through my hair... When that hair will be grey, will you say that life is getting shorter? What if my patience will be getting shorter? But, again, you said my skin was so fragile it seemed like it was ripping, as quick as a stick of butter under a butcher's knife. My skin was so thin you could easily cut me open and serve me, 'cause you also said my lips were sweet as a dessert, ready to be consumed by the luckiests. You said you were one of them.
You said my breath was a dream evaporating in the shades of a warm afternoon. Well, last night I dreamt you. Every time I closed my eyes -to escape from you- I dreamt you. Yes, I dreamt you, and even in my dreams you still talk about how hauntingly beautiful my voice is. How can you know if you've never let me speak? But now I realize what you meant by 'hauntingly'. 'Cause now I feel like a ghost: clothes are thinner than air, mouth is wide open and I still cannot talk. Try to act like a sensitive and you'll fail. You should keep ignoring me,
didn't you want me
to
disappear?
