Time passes and I keep losing my letters, I leave them, I reduce them, I make studs on them. Nobody cares, only me that I see them and I try to understand. Sometimes they say more than I am that my way of acting. After his anonymity I shield myself and let out the bustle that torments me. Nobody reads them, only me. They are the reason for my breathing. Day and night in my notebook they will break and the letters die, one after the other they will grow and with the eraser I will blur them. Everyone has reasons to write and today more than ever people want to share. The memories and thoughts stuff me, even sleeping the letters stain my leaves. Thank you for never leaving me, for showing in silence that voice that burns.
