“The other one never waits. Sometimes I want to play the part of the one who doesn’t wait; I try to busy myself elsewhere, to arrive late; but I always lose at this game. Whatever I do, I find myself there, with nothing to do, punctual, even ahead of time. The lover’s fatal identity is precisely this: I am the one who waits.”
Well, you’ve got a lot to say for the one that pushed me away.
The entire world is a dreadful collection of memories that he exists and that I have lost him.
This Sunday; I will leave without my heart, and never look back until I return.
I never meant you any harm but your tears feel warm as they fall on my forearm