I admit it and I confirm it, yes.
I got more problems than garments in my drawers — and down there, between my veins and my failures, there are a lot of scars looking sideways that hurt when you touch them. I cry, I cry a lot and very loud, when I remember that I put all of my heart in more battles than I could endure.
I am like that. Better said, I was made like this: my guts in the pot, my spirit out of the pocket and my soul wild, painfully alive. Because I have never dropped the curtain before tragedy and, if I am going to grow old (and I know I will be), I want to take away much more than just a little bottle of teardrops.
I like to make promises, cross my fingers and give my whole life for those that made out of themselves a home for me full of tenderness.
And, lately, I laugh, I laugh just because — and, since we are here: why not? Because sometimes it is worth that it hurts, that it gets hard, and I laugh because I always find in front of me a pair of white teeth returning me the same light.
I laugh because it is you and it is magical. It is you and that is all the miracle.