Words fail me and I over look.
My chest hurts and tears welled up when I least expect, memories caught me and I mix as if the assembly was defective, as if on purpose, knowing not put those parts of my memories.
My chest hurts, my foot hurts, and especially hurts my elbow. It hurts me deep inside, and if I stop, I can tell the precise machinery of my pain, as if it were a clock, but it's funny, I can not break anything, and I see the infinite pieces. I only brought mixed memories from way back.
I leave the words escape me and I go to the air. I can see between small floral clusters of small clouds as if it were.
I remember your smile hurts a certainty of something that will not return. And it's funny, because they are the memories I keep hearing the least, and yet, I have days with your laughter in my head, hitting hard, as insisting on preserving the memory above all others. But as I listen with clarity, and make it heard the tune separately from the rest, I only hear my own tears mingling with your laughter and then the perception becomes clear sound. It is a cry dry, rough, which gradually fades from city traffic.
