Are there norms that define the boundaries between sanity and madness? Determined not to write about women anymore, Diego responds to his publisher's pressure with a series of controversial erotics about the little girl who loves. His books become a...
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In the picture: With everyone well there was no book
Missi's response to her husband's text hidden behind a photo of her wedding album - the lyrics are tiny; The picture was taken during the couple's honeymoon in Europe. In the photo the girl wears only a white social shirt belonging to the writer and although this shirt is long enough to resemble a short dress, it is still possible to see the frilly white girl's panties due to the color and fineness of the fabric. Missi is separating one hand from the other at a distance of about six inches while pouting. Diego wears nothing, having his genitals covered by the blanket, he is sticking out his tongue in the photo.
I'm not horrible writing first person, but personal things, ugh! I had several diaries never finished when I was younger, one worse than the other, who would read them would not see me as the newest legend in literature. If Diego were here I would deny, praising my texts a lot. Maybe a lot of people like my little story, but the truth is that it's too formal, too robotic, and without feeling at all. I'm afraid to even talk to the paper.
When I last saw Diego he was crying a lot, I thought men like him didn't cry. There was a horrible panic in his eyes, he didn't want to die. I promptly hugged him, promising he wouldn't die, we both knew it was a lie.
I didn't have the heart to go back after that, I just don't want to be sad again.
I wonder how he must have felt when I said he was going to Europe and never came back. This is my problem, I do the bad things without hesitation and then regret imagining the victims of my actions, I cry to sleep.
I envy my husband a little, I'm no longer lucky to be dying. I don't know how, but the news of the abortion caused more than just a stir on the Internet, the matter has gotten so serious that now no country wants to let me get this shit - I love that bad word.
Yesterday Mattia took me for an ultrasound, I didn't want to go. He insisted that even if the baby should accidentally take all steps, a greater tragedy than to have this shit would be to die while I have it. I still have questions about the baby's name: irregular cycle, leaky condom, the failure of contraceptive and cinnamon tea didn't work this time.
The doctor explained to me how a childbirth works, Mattia laughed saying that I was white like the wall so scared. I have not given up trying to kill this plague: drinks, cigarettes, medicine, beat in the belly.
If Di were here would know what to do, I'll ask him after apologizing, he will solve everything just as he did before. Then I won't disappear again.
Why do I keep doing these selfish things? When I do it, it's kind of unthinking, I later regret it, but in the next moment of insanity I repeat the act. I will not apologize to anyone, better would Diego not have me around to cause more hurt, no one has to deal with an asshole.
