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One Hundred

There are songs behind all those smiles and there are anthems behind all those sadness. But I always find myself creating anthems. Isn't the world more cruel than Ares? Or this is just my mind full of inconsistencies and fragments of overwhelming grief?

I sat at the corner facing the darkness of a room and holding my cheap and out of tune guitar. I write it. All my feelings are processing in just a single drop of blood. It is so amazing how the blood runs through a piece of paper transforming itself into an organize tint. The tint says it all. First, that I am waiting to see your face. Hoping that on one enchanting day, I will see your glooming smile, your soft lips and the overly wonderful lashes playing on your eyes in that fast food chain and are awaiting my return. Second, that I will receive this one simple and sweet message; "I miss you." Third, that we will be able to hold each others hands while walking in the busy street full of honking and shouting. Fourth, that we will eat together in the midst of a storm while sitting side by side. Fifth, that you are dancing in front of me making me proud of you. Sixth, that you are always there to cheer me up whenever evil forces haunt me in my sleep. Seventh, that I am staring blankly to the night sky only seeing one star--- you. Eight, that I always found myself creating more memories of you. 

 That't it.

 You know why there are only eight things in there?

 Because I am in the process of forgetting... And I already forgot the remaining ninety-two.

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