Eight - Do not bear false witness
Too many cigarettes tonight.
I looked at the ashtray and I was almost scared, who knows what I've smoked 'without even noticing, so `for conditioned reflex, one for each new line of thought.
I'm sitting on the bed next cell in the hope that the text message this morning was not an only child, ashtrays and lighters enough neighbors do not have to consciously detect their use, read books stacked around a half in order momentary sympathy pen and paper, I wanted to write, but I was only able to fill the sheet of psychedelic squiggles, a bottle of water next to bed, my blanket, random thoughts, lost and lost a little bit around, like the hair that I find myself stuck to the pillow in the morning, a detachment that does not even feel as if they had never been mine.
This is my camp, my doghouse tonight: television with the volume turned all the way down, lady in waiting post-modern, stereo tuned to a radio any, that it is not the music that matters, but hear voices in the house always empty.
It is the evening of the inventories of celomanca, important decisions ever made in practice.
Lately it has become a fixture myself, perhaps because I have no better alternatives to choose from.
The ceremony is always the same: I get home, get undressed, I make myself something to eat, I take him to bed and then, methodical and relaxed, I begin to scratch with your fingernail under the skin, down there, after all, for figure out how many degrees of truth can get.
the truth.
In this story the truth is the true protagonist: we are always honest, sincere, and we do everything we say out of the teeth, even when it means hurting, fighting once more, offend.
We have always believed that not to tell lies in the long run pays off: We're still waiting, maybe.
As for me, well, maybe someone tell me, So, give me a sop for a while.
Or maybe I'm not even lying, they are just different forms of reality, a little bit more softer, less sharp, sometimes confused, often interpreted, to leave a space, a way of salvation.
He told me that my anger motions are due to its lack of attention, which does not care and does not care about me, that is selfish.
Perhaps it is true, but it is also true that I'm tired. The same things
months ago I would have made condescending smile, or at least then I would be impelled to speak calmly.
I tell myself that if there is not much of a difference `or` there, that after all I'm well on its own.
But it is like when it is on a diet: perhaps you eat enough to be satisfied, but this does not mean that you are happy. I, for alone, are simply satiated, when he smiles at me even with your navel.
justifies my staying with him in the hope that once again be the person I fell in love, because it is `clear that he is to be changed, to have closed, moved away.
And me? I do not control more words and no more able to smile and wait, that I have more strength in my hands and courage in their shoes.
But perhaps the falsehood is more big story to me is that we need to define our relationship.
What we need to take a clear commitment, clear.
What does it take a tape of a specific color that keep us tied together.
The argument is that if there was this sign on our heads I would feel less insecure and I would have less need for confirmation and attention, which may require less, I'd be more relaxed, knowing that he wanted to have a "contract".
Bullshit.
It is like when you have a pantry or fridge full of cans of canned food: if you do not know what lies on the inside you need to put on a label, otherwise you just look through the glass.
We have obscured, or more do not know what lies inside.
The phone rings, I know already that it is him and I could almost write down almost everything we say.
Goodnight. Since
is making her irrelevant to my good night's sleep? Maybe when I hear that is has decided to go into hibernation: useless to wish good night when sleeping already.
It is another lie: if you do not call me ferirebbe. Pero
hour that made him almost do not care.
work only the negatives of our pictures lately.
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