MY SPILLED CUP OF TEA.

The day wakes cloudy. I walk down this empty streets, seeing the grey sky that the storm precedes. Steps, lonely steps. Your heart beats louder than them. Your head burns. Breathless, life felt overwhelming, your world falls apart. You arrive, knock on the door, come in. It starts to rain. The storm begins. Thunder, lightning, screams, louder than you ever did. For the first time you feel peace. You breathe.

Silencio. No quedaban más sombras en la habitación que la suya. Sábanas arrugadas. La lluvia ya hacía rato que había cesado. La noche comenzaba a inundarlo todo. El reloj rompió el silencio y su sueño. Un aroma, un perfume en sus sábanas. Ropa desordenada. Labios sabor tequila, sábanas manchadas de carmesí. Las diez. Las once. Las doce. Silencio.

Well, here we are again, getting things off my chest by what has become usual in me, another eighth month. I won't pretend that it seems weird that you ignore me, many others had done it before. On the one hand I blame myself for being so sensitive, for holding my emotions inside, for being so sentimental. I sincerely believe that I surrender always too fast, and this time I have given you a small part of me, I have skipped my principles and I have given to you. Honestly this situation strikes me, after months insisting, what looks like to be even affection has become a lost of interest. It was clear that this wasn't going to last, that's why I didn't let me feel anything, and now it is running out I don't know how to feel. How long do I have to wait? Wouldn't it be better to finish it at once instead of waiting to get worse? The problem is that I'm the only one who seems to care, which seems to feel something. Why do you even want to talk about it? T...