Tears are quiet friends. Not even friends, more like kind cousins. You don’t invite them over, you never really want them there, but they wipe your face off your troubles. They walk all around your heart, your gut, your brain, and they drag away the excess. That stuff will kill ya, hon. Lets pour it out. Let’s wash up and start over. They hug your cheeks and unload your eyes, and you still resent them for falling. Tears, they don’t love. They live less than fruit flies. But what are you gonna do… you need them. You can’t walk around carrying all those feelings like extra words in a sentence. It just wouldn’t make sense.
posted by Andie at 4:19 PM
Saúde, menina, vou sofrer uma cirurgia amanhã. Mas ela é bem simples, vai dar tudo certo. O cabelo ainda tá preto, mas tá desbotado, sabe? As raízes já estão loiras. Te mando uma foto dele no dia em que eu pintei.
Beijocas.