Wednesday, 21 April 2010

Home is where the heart is.

Why do you all go precisely to the places where temptation to fall is custom-made for you?

The first times seem like heaven, a bliss to forget all your past and memories, pretend you're someone else, starting all over.

But soon enough you won't be able to continue, to linger sustaining your false new world.

I'm always the one holding the camera, I'm always the one who takes your picture.

Thoughts and memories that you forgot for some time, come to chase you again in the blink of the night.

He who has skeletons in the closet, is just like a snail, can't run away fast enough to forget them because they're all making weight on your back and leaving behind a track of who you really are.

How can you go away, far away, from where the confort of love and protection is? If you have them, why try to get them somewhere else? Will you grow in the jump that you make into the world? I hope you do.

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