I write so much,
I still write so much to let off steam,
I write so much to try to forget,
to forget me.
And it’s paradoxical,
because writing, I remember.
These my philosophies,
these truths of mine,
that so often oppose each other,
to those of others.
Writing my faults,
I write a lot, because I believe
Let it be the only way left for me to express myself.
At some point it’s an addiction,
I just can not stop.
But it is by continuing that I heal, that I understand.
A little, more and more,
i’m feeling better.
Now there is no obsession,
that it wasn’t his fault,
and of those who doubted in me,
and they kept saying,
more than I was,
that I couldn’t do it.
And this was what caused my obsession.
I was not taken so badly for me.
Just, I wanted to prove something,
to me, above all.
Now you know,
I miss her.
Not like before,
but simply to see it,
laugh with her,
do things together,
that thing together.
Now I would,
now I love myself, I question myself less and less.
And it was time I stopped talking so much,
and began to do.
There was nothing in particular to do,
it had to be me, I want to be.
And it wasn’t just the negative things.
I also and above all think,
how well I was,
I would like to do better.