It was too long ago.
You start your walk towards the empty room.
Those words written on those 6 tiny pages were always your favourites.
You used to think they summed up pretty much everything you enjoyed about your life.
You used to think they summed up pretty much everything you enjoyed about your life.
And they did.
Those 6 pages were perfection.
They don't exist anymore, though.
Those words are empty now.
Those hands that wrote them down are not the same anymore.
They don't exist any longer.
It's time to leave them behind.
Let them sit on your drawer.
You can't look back.
Just walk into the dark room.
Don't look back.
It's over.
There's nothing you can do about it.
You don't get to choose.
Walk out of that room, do whatever it takes.
You write like a gun. And the bullet pieces incrust the sky of your art making the stars of it even more bright. Don't stop being you.
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